


The Intimidation Game

by starkind



Series: "That will be all, Mister Wayne." [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Boss/Employee Relationship, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Iron Man 1, Rating May Change, Secret Identity Fail, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Tony Stark's new assistant was certainly not what the genius billionaire playboy had in mind. Suffice to say, the feeling is mutual.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love totally weird scenarios, so this story's motto can be summed up as 'What if Bruce Wayne was Tony Stark's male Pepper Potts?' Needless to say, true Batman fans should probably give this a pass ;) 
> 
> The title is actually the fake script title for Batman Begins that was used before and during production.
> 
> NB: Many tidbits/references/scenes in this story are of course courtesy of the original movie/script and the respective authors. No copyright infringement intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is no second chance for first impressions

The candidate for the job interview was already there when Tony arrived at his company, fashionably late as usual.

For all of his genius mind's worth, Anthony Edward Stark, age 35, was an eccentric playboy who was notoriously pulling all-nighters for various, mostly x-rated, reasons. “Looks like someone likes to work out” was Tony's first thought when he saw the unfamiliar but athletic silhouette through the glass doors from afar, bringing a predatory grin to his lips. Once he entered, two heads turned into his direction.

“Glad you could make it, Tony.”

Obadiah Stane's voice was full of thinly veiled rebuke. It only made the grin on Stark's face widen. “You know me, I came, I saw, I... needed a drink.” With that, Tony made a beeline for the bar in his business partner's office and gave a lackadaisical wave at the candidate to remain seated. His actions earned him an arched eyebrow and a flat look. It was not something Tony was used to receiving, especially not from people yet to be hired.

His grin grew brazen as he poured himself a generous shot. “So. This is getting all kinds of interesting. Running out of options, Obie?” Stane leaned back in his chair and watched him raid the crystal bourbon carafe. “More like trying different tactics. Tony, this is...” Stark interrupted him with a held-up hand while he downed half of his liquor. “What's in a name.”

After slamming the empty crystal glass on the wooden bar counter, he bestowed his best cocky smolder upon the person across from Stane. “Hope you've really thought this through, cause I'm not an easy person to handle.” Astute eyes gave him a brief once-over from behind inconspicuous, half-frame glasses. Thin lips then curved into a more than sparse smile.

“So I've heard.”

From his place at the desk, Obadiah Stane leaned back and steepled his fingers, watching them size each other up. “I'm sure the two of you will be getting along just fine.” His eyes found those of their applicant again. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne, looks like you've got the job.”

+  
  
In another huge office, with panorama ceiling-high windows and a view on all of Stark Industries' company grounds, Tony dropped into his plush executive chair and put his feet on the table. For a little while, he simply sat, rocking back and forth while looking his new assistant up and down. Once Wayne had gotten to his feet to follow him, Tony suddenly had found himself towered over by a good four inches.

Life chose to have him at an infuriating 5'7, but Tony always consoled himself that what he lacked in vertical, he more than made up in horizontal. There had, however, been no proffered handshake, which meant someone had been doing his homework. Tony cocked his head as he continued his mental inventory. Not only was Wayne taller but also broader than him, though more in an athletic than a meaty kind of way.

He wore a fitted charcoal gray business suit that spoke of good taste, just like his neatly coiffed hairdo which, Tony mused, was a bit on the conservative side. Both his hair and his eyes were of a lighter color than Tony's, and opposed to him, he was clean-shaven. Stark ran two fingers in a lazy scratch across the jagged edges of his goatee – getting up late had meant no time for grooming - sniffled once and raised his chin.

“Time for 20 questions. My turn of course. You're the only male assistant we got. What's up with that?”

After not being offered a seat, Wayne had remained standing by the door, slim attache in hand. “That is incorrect. There are six male assistants in your company's legal department alone.” Tony made a rather impolite sound. “You just made that up.” Wayne gave a minuscule tilt of the head. “Dominic Anders, Andrew Wright, Hugh Baker, Don Campbell, Jim Richardson, and Edgar Jenkins.” Annoyed at the deadpan riposte, Tony huffed.

“Like I said, what's in a name. And frankly, that's a bit creepy, you knowing all that I mean. Have you worked for SI before?” Wayne adjusted the slim frame of his glasses. “No, Sir.” An awkward silence erupted. Tony chose to slip his feet off the table and sat up straighter, drumming his index fingers onto the edge of his desk. “Where did you say you were from again?” Wayne's fingers twitched around the handle of his case. “I didn't.”

Tony threw him a look that seemed to say don't even try. Bruce Wayne's gaze never wavered. “Gotham City is what you wanted to say.” Tony then waved a hand about, displaying either boredom or disinterest in whatever Wayne might have wanted to reply. “What I really wanna know though is what brought you to the west coast." Wayne blinked. “I needed a new challenge.” There was a bit of defiance in his voice. It made Tony smirk.

“Oh, I can guarantee you that.” His smirk became feral. “I've got shares of Wayne Enterprises, you know.” No emotions whatsoever played upon Wayne's face at the sudden change of topic. “I am aware.” The quiet admission made Tony hum out loud. “So that's the true reason why you wanna work for me? Getting close? Getting revenge? Corporate espionage? Gee, that sounds so dirty, doesn't it.” Wayne swallowed but kept face.

“I am not affiliated with the company of my parents ever since I left Gotham.”  
Intrigued, Tony cocked his head.  
“And when was that?"

“After college, eight years ago.”

Tony nodded along, busying his ever-impatient hands with the quick disassembly and reassembly of a Mont Blanc pen. “The board certainly took another route than what your parents had in mind. Making business with a greedy arms dealer like me doesn't really sit well with a philanthropic doctor's approach to things.” No answer that time, but the light from above caught in Wayne's glasses as he lowered his head.

After another awkward silence, Tony flung the pen aside and cleared his throat. “I'll go over the rest with Obie. Why don't you go get acquainted with your... work environment?” In fact, Tony could not even remember the last person who had sat outside of his office. Her name had probably ended in y and she must have had huge tits. Wayne nodded and was back to standing ramrod straight.

“Will that be all, Mister Stark?”  
A slow, almost sneering smirk appeared on Tony's lips.  
“Yes, that will be all, Mister Wayne.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony behaves like a douche and Bruce takes it in stride

His talk with Obadiah went as well as expected. Stane downplayed all of Tony's concerns and objections right from the start before he slammed a meaty hand on his back in what he figured was a fatherly gesture. It made Tony shudder, though Stane neither did mind nor notice.

“Really, Tony, you think I would've let him through to you if I thought he was dangerous? The guy was abroad for the past seven years, all of his records came back squeaky clean. Heck, they've even had him declared dead in Gotham. He's certainly not seeking corporate revenge.” Obadiah clicked his tongue. “Besides, I can finally rest assured he is not going to sue for sexual harassment in the first week.”

He did not see the lip curl behind his back. Stane was a middle-aged, heterosexual WASP with a penchant for homophobia, who was good at turning a blind eye at Tony Stark's dormant bisexuality. “Remains to be seen. You know me, Obie. I'm not averse to holding conference calls in my birthday suit.” Stane threw him a look that hovered between indulgence and mild exasperation. “I'm sure Wayne can deal with that.”

It marked the end of their conversation and made one thing very clear:

Bruce Wayne was going to stay as his personal assistant, no matter how much Tony Stark kept on complaining.

+

Once Tony returned to his office, his gaze immediately fell upon the culprit of his bad mood. Wayne sat at the clean and empty assistant's desk made from glass and metal, bespectacled gaze locked upon the large monitor. Judging by the slightest hint of annoyance on his otherwise blank face, something was wrong. “Problem?” Tony smirked, even as hazel eyes found his. “I don't have permission to access the executive server.”

Tony shrugged and fished for his keycard to access his locked office. “Be glad your email works.” Wayne's eyes narrowed. “It doesn't.” The door opened with a soft click and Tony pocketed his card. “Well, you're my capable assistant - you'll figure something out.” Much to his chagrin, the Gothamite indeed found a way to get in touch with just the right IT people to fix all of his problems in less than half an hour.

Tony pretended not to listen in on the conversations outside his office, but from what he heard, Wayne was every bit the polite square bear.

Around 3:30 pm, Tony decided to call it a day. He had lunched with some fella from R&D, had taken an hour-long nap in his comfy executive chair afterward, and asked Wayne to bring him a double espresso, two sugars, once he had woken. In between all that heavy workload, he also figured out how to improve the spongy digital sighting unit on the latest dual-barrel air-burst weapon design.

“I'm heading out.”

Wayne looked up from the screen. His cheeks were flushed either from stress or still wearing his three-piece suit despite the more than comfortable indoor temperatures. “Do you require anything?” The door to Tony's office got locked with a quiet electric whirr. “For you to power down, grab your laptop, and hurry up. I wanna be home before the game starts.”

“Game?”  
Tony did not even bother to hide his eye roll.  
“Lakers vs. Mavericks. Why's that comp still on?”

Baffled, Wayne powered down the computer and stood up. “I am coming along?” Tony gave a slow clap. “We've got a genius among us.” His grin turned nasty. “No, wait, that's me. Make a note, Wayne, being my PA means trailing along where ever I'm going. Except for hot dates of course.” Cheeks still red, Wayne packed up, taking along his attache case and the small laptop which had also been bestowed upon him by IT.

Tony stood aside, chewing gum, tapping his fingers against his belt, and trying his best to make him nervous. Eventually, Wayne followed him into the private elevator. “You ride with me. If you got here by car you can pick it up tomorrow.” Striding along the huge, air-conditioned garage, Tony pointed his keys at a row of expensive looking cars in the front line. A silver Audi R8 blipped its headlights at them in response.

“Try not to soil the upholstery, it's Nappa leather.”  
  
The Gothamite said nothing and put the two cases between his legs. He managed to buckle up before they left the garage and the vast Stark Industries premises with loud revving and screeching tires. From the corner of his eye, hidden behind his designer shades, Tony saw the way Wayne clawed his hands into the edges of the seat but remained silent for the rest of the drive.

+  
  
A lot of things about Wayne annoyed the heck out of Tony several weeks into their burgeoning working relationship. One of them was the fact that Wayne had been given complete access to his mansion. As a personal assistant he was supposed to get familiar with all aspects of Tony's life, Obadiah had said. And as if that had not been bad enough, Bruce Wayne was like a freaking stealth bomber on two feet.

Even his crisp, shiny dress shoes made no sound on the mansion's marble tiles, thus leading to several indecent incidents with Tony screaming and flailing at being taken by surprise. The only area Wayne had no access to was the workshop, and Tony fought like a lion to keep it that way.

To everyone's surprise, Bruce Wayne managed to cope with all obstacles thrown his way. Instead of quitting his job, he went and established several routines, both at the company and at Stark Mansion, where he had taken up a small, unused room not facing the ocean and made it his office. Also, Wayne had taken rather quick to Jarvis, Tony's state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind AI system that ran most of his Malibu mansion household.

Too quick for Stark's taste.

The fact that Wayne remained unfazed by its sheer engineering geniality only added fuel to the fire that was burning inside Tony. Nobody but him had been allowed getting close to, least of all been able to get into the good graces of the artificial intelligence program so far, not even Obie. Tony's strong refusal to play along with his PA's efforts resulted in a snippy attitude and negligence of most of his business appointments.

When the Gothamite went and asked Jarvis to create interval alarms, Tony disabled them the second he found out. “Stop trying to gang up on me with my AI, Wayne. I'm getting ready when I'm ready.” It was a Wednesday evening close to 7:30, and they were having an argument in Tony's bedroom. It sounded kinkier than it was. “Are you planning to skip the official part of the NRDC charity dinner?”

Bruce Wayne's tone and facial expression spoke of utter disdain. With as much petulance as he could muster up, dressed in a pair of briefs, Tony crossed one arm behind his head and sneered into his assistant's stoic countenance. “Damn skippy.” Bruce Wayne's jaw worked as if he fought against a most likely improper reply before he schooled his face into a blank facade.

“So be it.”

He proceeded to collect strewn clothes and put them back into the dressing room, which put a damper on Tony's short-lived triumph. “Doesn't look too good on your PA resume so far, Wayne. You're supposed to keep me in check.” He reached for another cheese-laden slice of pizza which was soiling through most of the sheets on his bed. Wayne reappeared in his line of view. “The NRDC is not of interest to you anyhow.”  
  
That stopped Stark from taking another huge bite and got him to sit up straighter.  
  
“And why's that?”

“Too philanthropic.”  
  
Tony's brows furrowed.  
  
“Y'know what? I really don't like you, Wayne.”

“That's irrelevant to my job.”

“I could fire you.”

“Not without Mister Stane's approval.”

“People like me don't need anybody's approval. I really just need to snap my fingers and you're toast.”

“Charming.”

“Why yes, I've been considered morally corrupt for years, but hey, I'm also both rich and attractive as fuck, so that more than makes up for it, don't you think?” Nothing on Bruce Wayne's features indicated any reaction. “You don't pay me to think, Mister Stark, you pay me to organize your life.” The pizza slice pointed in his direction. “Fact!” A mushroom dropped onto the sheets. Bruce Wayne watched it with his usual detachment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NRDC = Natural Resources Defense Council  
> https://www.nrdc.org/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which boundaries get tested and overstepped

The day after the NRDC event, Tony wandered through the vast corridors of the executive suite towards his office, phone pressed to his ear. On the other end, Obadiah Stane, currently in Boston, chewed him out about the disastrous PR effect Tony's no-show effect had on the shareholders.

“Nonononono, see, Obie, they gotta have the cash in store to appear on our front door, no? Ain't no lame environment fund's able to do that. We're corporate fatcats, you said so yourself.” Stane started to speak on the other end, so Tony approached the ramrod-straight figure of his assistant behind his desk. When Wayne looked up from his screen, Tony sneered at him before he spoke.

“Yeah, well, Obie – you shouldn't've hired a Gotham cyborg if you wanted to teach me how to be a decent human being.”

As soon as the call had ended, Tony stopped in the doorway to his office, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Nothing personal, Wayne.” The latter's eyes wandered back to his screen. “It never is with you, Mister Stark.” At that, Tony leaned a shoulder against the door frame and quirked an eyebrow. “I take that as a compliment.” His voice and expression were smug. Bruce Wayne's eyes remained on the screen.

“Maybe I worded it wrong.” 

Before Tony could object at the riposte, Wayne slipped a nearby headset on. “Your 8 o'clock dinner with the head of taxes tonight has been canceled due to sickness. Do you want me to find a substitute? Several invitations from HR, Marketing and Legal are still pending.” Miffed at being out-sassed for once, Tony pushed off the wooden frame and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

“Hell no. I'm going out tonight.”

+

Tony Stark went out to party a lot. It was the main reason Bruce Wayne and Happy Hogan spoke more than two words a day to each other. Conferring on how to safely wrestle their drunk boss back home became something like their bi-weekly ritual. It would be a stretch to call it bonding, but it was a start. On a warm summer night's Thursday, Bruce lifted his arm to squint at his watch under the flickering strobe lights.

“The club closes in half an hour. I'll let him know. Go get the car.”

He had to raise his voice over the music. Hogan gave a curt nod and made his way through the crowd, headed for the exit. From afar, Bruce looked over at the person in question. He watched how Tony Stark tilted his head back just then and downed another shot. Wayne decided to move up to the VIP lounge, giving a nod at the meaty bouncer who stood guard at the bottom of the stairs.

Bruce remained standing at the outer rim, inconspicuous and discreet, observing. The area was crowded with men and women alike, all dressed up in the latest, skimpy fashion. On the huge white leather couch, Stark sat next to a man who had his back towards Bruce. Their heads were close together, and it looked like there was an intense conversation taking place. Wayne kept on watching through narrowed eyes.

Soon, the billionaire's moves seemed too sluggish all of a sudden, and he leaned back into the couch. When the faceless man then started to run a hand from the buttons of his shirt down to his crotch, Bruce sprang into action. In less than a minute, he had made his way over to them. “Mister Stark.” Both he and the unknown man craned their necks to look up to where the Gothamite loomed up in front of them with arms crossed.

“Hiiiii.”

A dopey grin spread out over Stark's face while his nameless company -a guy with dirty blonde hair and a thin strip of shaved skin in his left eyebrow- looked less amused. “It's rude to interrupt, dude.” He received a glare in return while he traced a finger along the buttons on Tony's chest, opening the first one. “I have to ask you to refrain from doing that.” Bruce Wayne's icy baritone cut through the booming music.

The guy looked him up and down and sneered at his immaculate suit and tie outfit. “Are you threatening me, Man in Black? Where's your flashy thingy and your shades?” Face still unaffected, Bruce's jaw began to work. “You will know when I am threatening you.” With a jeering snort, the guy went back to groping a docile Stark. He found his wandering hand grabbed in a tight fist only a split second later.

“Fuck, man, what are you - his bodyguard?”  
  
Bleary-eyed, Tony blinked at his assistant's forearm which had appeared a few inches from his face. “No.” Bruce applied a bit more pressure and twisted until the blonde man groaned. “I am his personal assistant.” Forced to let go before his wrist would snap in half, the man snarled up at him.

“Uptight asshole. I just wanted to have some fun.”  
With a rough move, Bruce yanked him to his feet.  
“Have it somewhere else.”

He propelled him to the stairs of the lounge and watched him disappear into the crowd. Bruce then put two fingers to the bluetooth headset in his left ear. “Hogan? We need the car at the back entrance. Two minutes.” He turned and walked back to his employer. “Mister Stark? We are leaving. Can you stand?” Tony squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blink them open again. “Dunno... don' feel s'good. Fuck, wha'...”

He tried to rise from the couch, only to feel the ground tilt to the side. Before his legs could give out underneath him, Tony found himself lifted from under his knees and back. He tried to protest, but only managed a weak flail of an arm. Wayne fastened his hold. “Stay put.” It was a gruff command. Solid like a rock, Bruce Wayne moved through the heaving crowd and pulsating music, carrying him out to the back door.

As soon as fresh air hit their faces, Tony began to move again. “Wha' - wha'h'ppnd? Wh're we?” Wayne glimpsed over to where the familiar limousine entered in the narrow alley. Headlights grazed his legs as Hogan pulled up next to them and got out of his seat to open the door. Bruce managed to scoot the slack body of his boss into the backseat before getting in next to him.

Once Hogan was behind the wheel and had brought the limousine back on the main street, he dared to speak. “One too many?” Wayne was still wrestling with Stark's limp extremities and the seat belt. “Someone spiked his drink.” At that, Hogan glimpsed over his shoulder, concerned.

“Hospital?”  
Forehead creasing in a frown, Bruce was about to say yes when their employer roused himself.  
“Nno. 'm fine. Ge' me home.”

Hazel eyes turned skeptical. “Mister Stark...” Tony tried to point a finger at him but miscalculated and dropped face-forward into Wayne's chest. “Mmpfh. Nnno.” Bruce looked at the crown of his head. “Mister Stark, a hospital would be able to determine any potential chemicals in your bloodstream.” Still buried within his assistant's pectoral girth, Tony's voice was mumbled. “So'sss Jarvis.”

He took a few deep breaths which Bruce could feel through the fabric of his shirt. “Yousmellnice.” Wayne eased him into a sitting position, gentle but firm, until Tony's head was up against the backrest. Bruce then looked at their driver. “To the mansion, Hogan.” The chauffeur nodded with one more glimpse into the rearview mirror before he put the limousine into motion.

As soon as the partition wall had come up, Stark's head lolled into the direction of his assistant. “Wannamakeout?” He wore a warped, almost stupid simper. Bruce's lips thinned in dismay. “Negative.” The billionaire scrunched up his face and rolled his head back. "Wha'ev'r." He almost slid down the bench seat, but his assistant was able to keep him semi-upright with an arm clasped around his shoulders for the rest of the drive.

+

After sending Hogan home, Bruce wrestled his semi-conscious cargo up into the master bedroom.

By now, Stark seemed less catatonic and just plain drunk. A scan from Jarvis brought relieving results. The dosage of Rohypnol was non-lethal and would wear off within the upcoming ten to twelve hours. Tony swayed in front of his bed and leered. “You're starin, Wayne, undressin'me with y'eyes.” He tugged at his button-down shirt. “Lemme help y'fant'sy.” Not rising to the bait, Bruce slung back the fresh and crisp sheets.

“There is a glass of water on your nightstand. Now please comply and...” Like a puppet that got its strings cut, Tony dropped prone on the bed and began to snore into the mattress. “... lay down.” After making sure to turn him onto the side and prop his back with enough cushions to avoid him to roll over, Bruce Wayne left the bedroom without a look back. “Jarvis, monitor his vitals. Call an ambulance in case anything seems off.”

“Certainly, Mister Wayne.”

+

It was 3:19 pm the next day when Tony shuffled into his kitchen, wearing a bathrobe and a massive bedhead. Bruce Wayne was sitting at the counter, dressed in a gray suit with a blue button-down shirt and a matching tie. A glass of sparkling water stood next to his laptop, as well as a bowl of mixed chopped fruits. They shared a brief look over the screen. Tony tried for a confident smile.

“Hey.”  
Wayne's eyes were guarded behind their glasses.  
“Good afternoon. How do you feel?”

Tony thought he had never heard a less emphatic question. “Loopy as fuck.” He shuffled over to the fridge and glimpsed into it for the longest time. He then closed it and went to steal two pieces of apple from Bruce's small bowl. Wayne said nothing but Tony saw his lips twitch once.

“So, from what I gathered, you really managed to save my heinie out there last night. Well done.”

Wayne's attention flew back to the content on the screen in front. “I did my job.” Tony put one hand on the counter, the other on the back of the chair Bruce sat on, and leaned in close from the side. “I gotta say, I dig the fiercely loyal schtick. S' your best feature, clearly, apart from your cheekbones I mean.” Right when Wayne's brows started to draw together, Tony straightened back up with a cocky grin.

“So yeah, you can play the Costner to my Whitney every time. We're finally getting somewhere, you 'n me. Bonding.”

Something like simmering anger flickered behind his assistant's composed facade and cold eyes. “The man who slipped you the drug has been apprehended as of last night. I already spoke with Legal and we are going to press charges.” Bruce pushed the bridge of his glasses up with his middle finger. “That being said, I am not keen on a repeated performance any which way. Be more careful next time.”

In seconds, Tony's face, too, twisted with irritation. “D'you know what I'm not keen of? Your goddamn sneaking around. Imma go and make you wear tap shoes if you don't stop that stealth shit, capiche?” Their eyes darted within each other. Nothing else on Wayne's face moved. “Will that be all, Mister Stark?” Instead of an answer, Tony turned around and stormed off, his bare feet stomping back upstairs.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's one step forward, two steps back

By the time the next day rolled around, Tony's foul mood seemed to have evaporated enough to make the first move. Working from the mansion, Bruce had not seen or heard of his employer until it was almost close to noon. Then his intercom sprang to life with a crackle. “Wayne? Come down into the workshop.” Puzzled, Bruce leaned forward and pressed a digital button. “I don't have a-”

“1217. Keep it memorized, don't write it down. Chop chop.”

The connection got cut off immediately after. With a small sigh, Bruce got to his feet and walked down the stairs leading into the basement. For the first time since he had dared to take a look at the floor below, the glass panels surrounding the workshop were not set on full-privacy opaque but regular see-through panes. Standing in front of the main doors, Bruce typed in the code and the door opened with a soft hiss.

The first thing that greeted him was classic rock music playing over a surround sound system. Bruce stopped and looked around. The workshop was huge and, opposed to the clean and sterile décor upstairs, considerably messy. It smelled of motor oil, coffee, faint male sweat, and burning flux. There was an abundance of tools in- and outside of large metal shelves, and a huge mainframe sitting enthroned in the middle.

Several luxury sports cars and motorbikes were lined up at one side, framing the way up to the garage. Wayne found his employer kneeling on the concrete floor, next to a clutter of tools and a classic car that had been stripped of most of its components. An immersive 3D holographic environment was floating in mid-air close to where he was working, picturing the interior of an engine block in bright blue hues.

Once he noticed his company, Stark got to his feet and brushed his palms against his pair of jeans. They were sporting holes and grease stains, just like his faded blue t-shirt. “Familiar with cars, Wayne?” He pointed a screwdriver at the object in question. Bruce regarded the exploited outline of the car once again. “Ford Flathead Roadster. 1934?” Tony gave a little hum that sounded part-surprised, part-pleased.

“Not bad. 1932.”

He rubbed the back of his wrist over his forehead, leaving a smudge of black on his skin. Before Bruce was able to provide him with a clean tissue, Stark turned away. “Get me a wrench from over there, will ya.” He pointed his chin at the workbench in the distance. Just as Bruce was about to do as he was told, his hand stopped short upon a black oblong box on the table. On it was a small card with his name written on it.

One look over his shoulder showed how Tony Stark was now watching him like a hawk. “Go on, open it up.” Face indecipherable, Bruce lifted the lid which read Gucci in embossed lettering. A necktie with a subtle burgundy-charcoal pattern was inside, resting amid several layers of colored silken paper. Bruce looked up at his employer, his eyebrow raised. “What is this for?” Tony waved a hand about.

“For your efforts. No paparazzi mess whatsoever. Take it on behalf of Obie and the whole PR team.”  
Bruce's brows furrowed.  
“Like I said – I just-”

“You just did your job, yea yea yea, Wayne, I got that memo. Can't I just do something nice for once? I promise I won't make a habit out of it.”

Tony had turned sideways to hide the fact that his fingers thrummed against the car's hood with nervous energy. After a while, Wayne shut the box with circumspect motions. “Thank you.” The smallest of smiles flitted over his face. Tony took note of it, despite pretending to be deep in concentration, wrestling with the Hotrod's dual intake manifold. Feeling dismissed, Bruce took the box and walked towards the door.

“Care for lunch? I can order at that deli on the bay if you like.”  
Tony paused working for a second, though he did not meet his assistant's gaze.  
“Sure.”

+

A few days after the incident at the workshop, Bruce had to deal with one of Tony's infamous one-night stands for the very first time.

Up until then, Bruce had gotten the impression that his employer tried to be at least a trifle more complaisant instead of trying to make his assistant's life as complicated as before. It happened out of the blue and caught him off-guard when he strode into Stark's master bedroom and was greeted by a female, high-pitched shriek. A blonde, not much older than 24, was quick to cover up within the heap of tangled sheets.

Bruce all but recoiled and backed into the door frame with a dull thud. “Who are you? Where is Tony?” She drew the blankets up higher as Bruce turned away to avoid eye contact and rubbed his aching back. “I am Mister Stark's personal assistant.” She frowned. “So where is he?” Adjusting his glasses, Bruce inwardly asked himself the same question. “He is sorry, but he had to attend an early business appointment.”

The lie came easily, and it made the young woman pout. “I don't know where my clothes are or how to get home.” At that, Bruce Wayne, PA extraordinaire, put up a look of determination. “Let me see what I can do.” It took less than ten minutes until he returned, carrying a box filled with shiny fabric. A pointy heel was sticking out. “Here.” He handed over her belongings and turned around as she shuffled into the adjacent bathroom.

Bruce tapped the small in-ear piece and spoke a few words to Jarvis while he waited. After a little while, she reappeared, dressed in a figure-hugging piece of fabric that left nothing to the imagination. All gentleman, Bruce steadied her by the arm as she fastened the strap of a high-heel. “A cab is waiting outside to take you where ever you want to go. The fare is already prepaid. It should be enough to reach downtown LA.”

The blonde straightened back up and threw her hair back at the same time. Bruce caught a whiff of smoke and too-sweet perfume as she then leaned in to give him a flirty smile. “Thanks. It's hard to believe you are who you said you are, you know.” Hazel eyes narrowed. “What?” He watched her putting up a what she believed to be smoldering expression as she sized him up. “You're far too handsome to be a mere assistant.”

The smile that appeared on Bruce Wayne's lips was a thoroughly fake one as he escorted her outside to where the cab stood waiting. “Have a nice day, Miss.” As soon as the car had left the premises, Bruce quizzed Jarvis on the whereabouts of his employer. “Mister Stark is currently asleep in the guestroom to the far left on the first floor.” The Gothamite nodded and checked his phone. 08:45 and several alarms popping up.

With a sense of grim finality, Bruce straightened his tie and grabbed a small disinfectant tissue to wipe his hands before he set to work.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are realizations at the worst (?) of times

The last time Tony had wet dreams was when he was 17. His 'cure' had been to go out and get some each night; anyone from young, willing starlets bordering on underage to washed-up strippers with big knockers had done the trick. Now, however, most of his dreams were filled with images too hard to shake, many of them ending with a mess in his pajama pants due to...

“Good morning, Mister Stark.”  
At the voice of the culprit in question, Tony grunted, half awake, and rolled onto his stomach.  
“'s not. You're lying.”  
  
Noncommittal as always, Wayne put the small tray with the usual espresso cup on the nightstand with a soft clink. “You have a video conference with R&D at 9:30. Seeing it is already 9:15, you should see to a quick shower.” Tony turned his head to squint up one-eyed at the dour expression of his assistant. “Meh. All these appointments don't leave enough time for us to do what best friends do.”

“We are not best friends, Mister Stark. Jarvis, windows to 75 percent, please.”  
Tony squinted against the sudden brightness and held up a hand in front of his eyes.  
“Right. I'm your employer whom you spend most of your time with, and whom you're also totally obsessed with cause he's so hot.”

“Mister Stark, this is all in your head.”

“Which one?”

Bruce Wayne managed to shut the door just as soundless as he had opened it.

As soon as those firm steps were out of earshot, Tony turned onto his back and reached for the rock-hard erection in his pants. He envisioned that trademark angry frown around his cock, and the mental image of him fucking Wayne over the backrest of his couch in the workshop made him come in an instant. With a sated groan, Tony flopped the blanket back and gulped down the already lukewarm espresso.

He then shuffled out of his soiled pants, dunked them into the washing chute, and waddled along the corridor into the master bathroom with its rainforest shower. He managed to clean up and shave before plopping down in front of the screen in his office at 9:35, dressed in a silk and cashmere blend polo shirt and a pair of jersey sweatpants which thankfully remained hidden from view.

For an hour and a half, he and his engineers talked shop. The Jericho was coming together nicely, which was a blessing with the deadline for the live-presentation in Afghanistan looming up. Once done, Tony sashayed downstairs to have his much-anticipated breakfast. As expected, the table was set for one, with freshly squeezed orange juice, a bread basket filled with croissants and bread rolls, and eggs Benedict on the side.

Tony hopped on a designer bar stool and glimpsed over at the lone figure that was his assistant, sitting on the couch in the living room. He banned all lingering, sexual scenarios from his mind and cleared his throat.

“Wanna join me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“I already ate, Mister Stark.”

Wayne then put the notebook aside and rose. He inspected the refill state of coffee in Tony's mug as he walked past and took along the empty glass of juice to put it in the dishwasher. Munching along, Stark watched him bustle about with one elbow propped up on the marble counter.

“Call me Tony.”

“I don't think that is a good idea.”

“Why not? I'm not going to call you Mister Wayne all the time.”

No answer. Tony bit off another piece of flaky croissant, uncaring about the mess it left on the tabletop. “Can I call you Brucie?” At that, Wayne's eyes turned vitriolic. “Absolutely not.” The venom in his voice made Tony smirk. “Ah. Bad breakup, eh?” A batch of files landed in front of him with more force than necessary. “Sign these forms, I need to get your visa for Afghanistan ready.”  
  
Not paying the documents any mind, Tony cocked his head with a pert expression. “What is it with you and your tight-assed attitude?” Wayne started to clear the breakfast table around him, not meeting his eyes. “You cannot be kept in check otherwise.” Tony had to be quick and snatch the final mini pastry out of the bread basket before it disappeared. “Listen, I might be an asshole, but an asshole with feelings, okay?”  
  
The fridge slammed shut after Bruce had put butter and jam back inside.  
  
“Should have told your overnight guest so.”

“Who?”  
Seeing Stark's face bore no real recollection, Wayne's turned downright sinister.  
“A little heads-up would have been nice this morning.”

Remembering last night, Stark gave an idle shrug and reached for his cup to wash down the remains of his breakfast. “I'm sure you handled things well.” He grumbled when the empty mug was taken from him and a glass of sparkling water appeared in front of his nose together with two of his daily vitamin supplements. “Your guest might disagree.” Another shrug in between two gulps of water.

“She'll get over it. They all get over it. Dudes take it better than girls. No pun intended.”

Tony kept on watching his PA's face for any outward reaction. “Shocked?” The Gothamite rummaged around the shelf filled with Tony's armada of high-end supplements, rearranging jars and looking at labels. “No. Do you still take these? BCAA capsules with betaine? We'd have to reorder soon.” Stark wiped the breadcrumbs off the counter with a careless motion and draped his upper body on crossed arms over it.

“Yep. And just for the record, I'm supposed to keep that part on the down-low, but I'm not such a hetero-drama-queen like Obie.”

Tony's grin turned predatory. “What about you, Wayne? Are you able to handle my oh-so hedonistic nature?” Unimpressed, Wayne whipped out a small PDA and starting typing. “What you do behind closed doors is entirely your business, Mister Stark.”

“Sometimes I do it right here, in the kitchen. Or on the piano.”

That was a lie, but Tony loved putting the mental image in Wayne's head. Judging by the looks of it, he might have even succeeded, it was hard to tell. He, therefore, decided to push his luck even further. “See, I've come to really cherish our business relationship so I won't tell you I'd totally sleep with you, too, if you just asked.” The sentence hung in the air, leaving an awkward vacuum behind.

The softest rustle of fabric against marble could be heard as Bruce leaned forward over the counter, in Tony's direction. On instinct, Tony mimicked him. Wayne looked him deep in the eyes for what seemed like an eternity, gaze unwavering until Tony swallowed. A finger tapped at the folder close to his arms.

“The visa application. Signed.”

+

Tony Stark left Malibu on a private jet two weeks later, headed for Afghanistan.

The trip turned out to change a whole lot more than just Tony's view on the world and Bruce's Wayne's relationship with him.

It changed everything.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which old concepts get re-evaluated

Underneath the blistering midday sun, the tarmac was hot and completely free of shade to provide shelter.

“Wait in the car. Air condition.”

Hogan's gruff voice got Bruce to look down from where he had stared at the horizon. Both of them were in their dark business suits. “It's fine.” Happy frowned behind his dark shades as Wayne kept on squinting across the glimmering heat on the asphalt. The burly chauffeur then snorted.  
  
“Suit yourself, man.”

The past 90 days had been an emotional roller-coaster. After Tony Stark's convoy had gotten attacked in the desert, the billionaire had been reported missing. His best friend from the US Air Force, Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes, had stayed in-country to look for him, but with each passing week, hopes were diminished as there were no news. Until he had been found. Alive.

Bruce Wayne focused on a descending cargo plane that touched down and made its way along the tarmac. It rolled to a stop several feet away from the hangars and the parked limousine. The Gothamite squared his shoulders just as the plane’s bay opened, revealing two figures inside. One sat in a wheelchair. A uniformed James Rhodes helped his friend up and walked him down the ramp, hands joined to steady his steps.

Stark's right arm was in a sling, his face marred by several abrasions, but when his eyes rested upon his small welcoming committee, he straightened up as good as possible, raising his chin in visible defiance. He shook his head at an approaching team of paramedics until Rhodes shooed them away. Upon the last feet separating Tony from his assistant and chauffeur, he released his hold on Rhodes and marched on alone.

Bruce walked into his direction until they stopped in front of each other. Stark sniffed once.  
“Your cheeks are flushed. Excited to see your long-lost boss?”  
Their eyes darted within each other until Bruce's lips gave a meek twitch.  
  
“It's 96 degrees today, Mister Stark.”

Tony's eyes traveled down his business attire and rested upon the burgundy-charcoal tie around his neck. “Should've gone for smart casual then.” It was a soft murmur. When Stark dared to meet his assistant's eyes, they, too, bore a gentle expression. “That would have been improper.” Behind them, Happy Hogan interrupted the moment with a heavy huff and the slamming of the trunk.  
  
“Can you guys finally get in the air-conditioned car?”

+

'STARK RAVING MAD! SHARES DROP OVER 55 POINTS!'

Jim Cramer's Mad Money sermon was only the tip of the iceberg. Bruce watched it on a tablet PC next to his laptop. Ever since Tony Stark's fateful press conference where he basically eradicated his company's weapons' manufacturing department on a whim, there was an endless stream of emails and calls coming in.

Bruce left it to Jarvis to take care of the majority of them, giving out the same noncommittal statement over and over that said nothing more than thanking the caller or sender for their message and leaving them assured their matter was handled in the best and most convenient way possible. Tony Stark himself had turned from outgoing playboy to full-blown hermit in a matter of days.

Wayne drove to his mansion instead of the office every day, providing his employer with an overabundance of food and beverages, only to find most of them untouched at the end of the day. Jarvis told him that Stark also had not touched a single drop of alcohol in his house bar ever since his return, but seemed to thrive on coffee and other energy drinks that made Wayne's stomach turn at their synthetic smell.

The first time Bruce got to lay eyes upon the anomaly in Stark's chest was on day three after his return.

A buzz of the intercom made Bruce look up from his computer. “Hey, could you come down here for a sec? I need... um... assistance.” Obediently, Wayne interrupted his current task of formulating yet another reply to the legal team and got up. He found his employer in the workshop sitting on some sort of laboratory chair, reclined backward. Tony Stark threw him a magnificent smile few people would categorize as insecure.

Bruce Wayne was one of those few people.

“I don't really trust Dummy or Butterfingers with this, so I've elected you to be my extra pair of hands.”

Instead of an answer, Wayne stared. Stark was bare-chested, covered in a handful of electrodes, and there was a hole right in the middle of his chest of about 4 inches in diameter. Inside sat a strange circular, glowing object. “What... is that?” Still fixated on the abnormality, Bruce missed out on the impatient eye roll cast his way.

“My newest invention. Built-in nightlights. Gotta see about making money now that we're not doing guns anymore.” His voice bordered on sarcastic. It prompted his assistant to take his eyes off the glowing object. “Did you build this?” A wave of something indefinable washed over Stark's features before he smirked.

“Yup. Miniaturized ARC reactor, the one Obie said we made to mollify the hippies back in the days. Except now I am the hippie, kinda, and this little fella here badly needs an upgrade. Come up here and hold this. Oh, but be a doll and disinfect your hands over there first. Up to the elbows. I'm a germaphobe.” He nodded at a sanitizer dispenser mounted to the wall next to the door.

Wary, Bruce shed his jacket, unbuttoned his sleeves, and rolled the fabric up to his elbows before holding his hands under the dispenser. As soon as his extremities were sufficiently doused in sterile-smelling mist, he held them up to facilitate the drying and stepped closer, eyes darting from Stark's face to his chest and back.

He watched the billionaire fumble with something around the socket of the circle until the latter came off his chest with a metal plop. Putting it aside on a small operating table, Stark then leaned back and exhaled. “Okay, we don't have much time – you gotta be quick and reach in and grab that one lone wire in there.” Wayne peeked into the small void of his chest, pure skepticism written all over his face.

“Why, what's... what's gonna happen otherwise?”

He glimpsed at the monitor to his left which was displaying a regular heart rate frequency. Stark clicked his tongue. “Cardiac arrest, no biggie, so if ya would, now, kindly?” Eyes widening in horror, Bruce reached out and dove his right hand, thumb inside his palm, into the small crater. With interest, Tony watched the unusual display of emotions playing on the Gothamite's face as his hand encountered liquid resistance.

At the disgusted curl of his lips, the billionaire felt the need to pipe up. “That's an inorganic discharge from the reactor, it's completely harmless.” Two glowering eyes found his. Meanwhile, Bruce's fingers had made out the wire in question and began to lift it with care. “Doesn't smell inorganic.” His voice held a faint note of disgust. Stark shrugged, which led to Wayne bumping his knuckles against the reactor's casing.

In an instant, the heart rate monitor flashed red and beeped a loud warning.

“Hold. Still.”  
Sweat had begun to pool on Wayne's temples. Tony fought his labored breathing back under control.  
“Bet you were lousy at Operation.”

Once the wire was out, Tony reset the new reactor all by himself with quick, nimble moves.

Drained, and with his right hand covered in slimy goo all the way up to his wrist, Bruce stood aside and watched how the device clicked shut and the monitor started to blink green. “How much time would have been left?” He was slightly panting as he spoke. All calm, Tony removed the electrodes from his chest, reached for the towel on his lap and began to wipe at the drips of colorless discharge on his skin.

“The ARC essentially stops pieces of shrapnel from piercing my heart. It won't stop my ticker immediately, that would take quite some time. But damn, you should've seen that look on your face. Pure, unadulterated horror. Priceless.” He started to snigger to himself, shaking his head as if he was reliving the moment. Wayne's eyes narrowed to slits behind their glasses while a muscle on his cheek began to twitch.

Just before he could explode, Tony patted the forearm closest to him with a benign look and slapped the old reactor in his hand. “Really, though. Good job, Bruce.” At the seething look he received, Tony put up a cheeky grin. “What? C'mon now, you had your hand inside of my body, that more than justifies a first name basis.” The Gothamite's jaw worked for a few moments, trying to find the right words. Eventually, he huffed.

“I don't want to do that -ever- again.”

His voice was a mixture of downright fascination and utter repulsion. Stark's huge brown eyes held an almost sad shine. “Yeah, well, sorry to break it to you, but you're the only one I got 'round here.” They locked eyes and Bruce nearly forgot the dripping, gooey reactor in his hand. “What do you want me to do with this?” Stark wiped the towel over his chest one last time and threw it somewhere onto his cluttered desk.

“Recycle. Though for your eyes only – keep it confidential.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which certain boundaries start to blur

While Tony did indeed not summon his assistant for a repeated procedure, Bruce's workload still increased with each new day. Stark Industries' was facing blows from all sides, and its CEO took the brunt of the ire. People had always called Tony Stark a heartless businessman who cared for nothing more than the padding of his own massive bank account; called him an opportunist and war profiteer.

Nowadays, they also called him insane and irresponsible and demanded his immediate resignation. With Stark being on prolonged, forced incommunicado ever since the fatal press conference that had shut down weapons' manufacturing effective immediately, Bruce had been in touch with most if not all of the company's high-ranked managers and executives at least once.

Obadiah Stane had taken over at the helm to prevent the company from plunging further into chaos. His emails usually were short and asked about Tony's daily activities. Wayne always replied in the vaguest yet most optimistic ways possible, and Stane seemed to be content with his efforts at keeping Tony Stark at bay. He was only supposed to deal with the R&D part of his company; no external matters for time being.

Bruce wisely failed to mention that one time Stark absconded to meet up with his friend Rhodes at the local Edwards Air Force base. Stark had been back three hours later, subdued and cranky for reasons left unsaid. He had slammed the door to his workshop shut with so much force that his assistant heard it all the way up to his office.

When Bruce then proceeded to call it a day, it was already past 7:30 pm. As he stepped downstairs, the sight of his employer greeted him in the living room. Dressed in a long-sleeved black Henley, Stark looked small and almost lost as he sat on the edge of the sofa. He flinched as Bruce stood at the bottom of the stairs. For a second, Tony almost looked unsure of what to say. “Soo. Done for the day, huh?” Wayne gave a nod.

“I have uploaded the files with notes from today's meetings onto your pad. Look up folders 34, 35, and 39. Tomorrow's first appointment is a vidcon at 8:30 with Dr. Michelle Meyers from AccuTech.” Tony nodded along, not meeting his gaze. “Got it.” Bruce gauged his moody reticence. “Goodnight, Mister Stark.” When there was no reply, Bruce took his overcoat from the rack, picked up his attache case and reached for the door.

“Hey, Way... Bruce.”  
Hand hovering above the doorknob, Bruce looked over his shoulder.  
“Yes?”

“Do you – I mean,” Tony started rubbing his left thumb into his right palm, still avoiding eye contact. “Could you stay some more? Paid overtime of course.” After a pause, Bruce put his attache case back on the sideboard. “Of course. Any particular files you wish to go through?” A shake of a curly-haired head. “Not really, no. Can we watch a movie?” His assistant reached up to push his glasses further up on his nose.

“This is your house, Mister Stark.”

That was when his employer raised his head. “Tony. It's Tony. You're off the clock, so it...” He frowned at the remote control on the table in front of him. “... I'm not my father.” Much to his relief, Bruce nodded and moved over to also sit on the couch, albeit at a distance. “Would you like me to prepare some food?” Tony turned his head to look at him from where he had scooted into the corner of the large sofa. “Are you hungry?”

One of Wayne's brows quirked. “I asked you.” Stark waved an arm into the general direction of the kitchen. “There's enough sweet popcorn and crackers around for a movie night I think. Or not? I don't know.” Bruce sighed and stood up. “Let me go and fix up a quick stir-fry for you.” Lightning fast, Tony shot up and reached into his direction, stopping short just before actually touching him by the wrist.

“Nono, I'm good. We can order something if you should change your mind later on. Park your butt here on the couch, now.”

Having no choice but to comply, Bruce put his overcoat aside, neatly folded to avoid creases, and unbuttoned his jacket. From where Tony was busy powering up the surround-sound home cinema, he glimpsed his way. “Off the clock also means no suit and tie. Go fetch a sweater or something.”

“I am good, thank you.”  
  
Stark's eyes roamed all over his torso with a look of concentration Bruce had only ever seen him wear when he was working on his inventions. “There might be one or two sweaters lying around that could fit you. My old MIT hoodies. Size XXL. Go get one.” Bruce forced a polite smile on his face. “I'll take off the tie but the rest will be unnecessary.” He slipped it off and rolled it into a neat ball before putting it into a coat pocket.

The first accords of the James Bond theme then rolled through the living room in Dolby surround, and Jarvis automatically dimmed the lights and the windowpanes. Over the course of the movie, Bruce Wayne sat and typed away at the small notebook on his lap. Most of his attention, however, was directed at the man on the opposite end of the couch, and at the way Tony Stark fought hard against falling asleep.

As soon as the credits started to roll, Bruce shut down his laptop. “We should call it a day. It's almost midnight anyhow.” His low voice roused the billionaire in an instant. “No! Let's do another one. 'You Only Live Twice' is a classic. A bit cheesy and unrealistic regarding the gadgets, but still a classic.” Tony extended a hand from underneath the blanket and wiped a hand over his face, trying to will the apparent fatigue away.

Bruce cleared his throat and slipped his electronic device onto the table.

“Mi... Tony. You are tired. You need to sleep.”

“I don't want to. C'mon, just one more.”

“Do you want me to get you some Nyquil?”

“I want you to stop mollycoddling me for fuck's sake!”

At that, Bruce's slightly softened features turned hard. “Fine.” He rose with a swift motion, grabbing his coat. Alarmed, Tony brushed the blanket off and sat up. “Wait! Fuck, no, that's not what I meant - HEY!” About to go after him, Tony's sleep-deprived brain did not register the twisted fabric around his ankles. With a yelp of surprise, he took a hard nose dive on the floor which brought Wayne back to his side in an instant.

“Are you hurt?”

Still face-down on the carpet, Tony shook his head as his hands balled into fists, clawing at pieces of the long-threaded, plush carpet. “Fuck this.” His voice sounded on the verge of a breakdown. With Bruce's help, Tony got back into a vertical position, plopping down on the sofa. “I don't want this.” Wayne's eyes roamed over the glowing spot inside his chest, then up to his face. “You will get better. This will get better.”

Tony heaved a few unsteady breaths and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don't leave me alone.” As soon as he'd uttered those words between gritted teeth, he pressed the heels of both palms into his eye sockets. It was the first time Bruce Wayne stayed at a guest room at the mansion overnight.  
  
It should not become the last time.

+

On the next morning, there was no espresso waiting for Tony once he woke up. Instead, there was his assistant who dragged him out onto the far end of the mansion's wide patio, trying to teach him an easy to apply breathing rhythm to use whenever anxiety threatened to overwhelm Tony at the oddest moments.

They sat side by side facing the ocean; Wayne in his rumpled shirt and pants from the previous day, performing an easy-looking lotus seat, and Tony looking like the sad excuse of a pretzel in fancy designer workout clothes. Squinting at the scintillating sea, Stark then leaned in. “I'm so not the meditative type.” Without opening his eyes, Bruce kept on breathing in a slow and steady rhythm. “You haven't even tried.”

“I did. You didn't notice.”

“Because I was meditating. Like you should have been.”

“Pff.”

Bruce ignored him, and Tony tried to go back to whatever he had been attempting. It lasted twelve seconds.

“I want my espresso.”

Despite the whine, Wayne did not rise to the bait, let alone move.

“Breathe.”

“Fun fact: If I didn't, I'd be dead.”

“Into your chest, not your belly. That's the problem.”

“Your point being what?”

With an audible sigh, Bruce blinked his eyes open. He then cast the person next to him a reprimanding look. “Put a hand on both your chest and your belly. The hand on your belly should move more than the one on your chest when you breathe.” Tony pulled a taunting face but complied.

“Doesn't work.”

“Focus.”

“I dare you to do this with a miniature reactor in your chest.”

That was when Bruce decided to end their session. He unfolded his legs with grace and got to his sock-clad feet. “I'll make breakfast. Why don't you relax in the pool until I'm done?” A sudden, haunted look entered Stark's eyes. He also hopped to his feet and visibly balked, backing off towards the patio doors. “Nope, I'm good. Also not hungry right now, must be all that fresh air or something. So healthy. I... I'm gonna be in the shop.”

Bruce stared after his fleeting form with a pensive frown. He picked up jacket and shoes from the recliner next to the patio doors and got dressed. After a glimpse at his mobile, he slipped it into his pocket. “Jarvis, I am heading home to change. Let Mister Stark know I'll be back in an hour.”

“Certainly, Mister Wayne.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there are unsolicited offers

As promised, Bruce returned an hour later, showered, shaved, and dressed in a crisp navy suit with a light blue shirt and matching tie. Before he could enter his little office at the end of the north wing, however, the AI stopped him in his tracks.

“Mister Stark has been informed about the reason for your absence. He therefore has seen to rearranging your current housing situation and has relocated your office to the room next to his private quarters. All of your work-related items have already been packed up and transferred.”

Baffled, Bruce headed down the corridor until he found the room in question. It was almost three times the size of his previous office, with a stunning panoramic ocean view and a balcony, a built-in closet, and a queen-sized bed held in subtle white and gray colors like the rest of the furniture. A sliding door to the left revealed a small but fully equipped indoor guest bathroom with a marble-floor shower cabin.

Still stupefied, Bruce turned off the lights and closed the door. Jarvis' dignified voice echoed through the air. "Mister Stark kindly requests you to bring your own, personal wardrobe along. He has, however, already seen to order size-appropriate items to store here for unforeseen incidents like last night.” Fueled by a need to set the record straight, Bruce turned on his heel and marched into the basement.

Most of his irritation deflagrated, however, at the sight of Tony Stark's wholeheartedly genuine smile. “There you are. Already moved in?” The inventor was dressed in a pair of faded baggy jeans and a tight gray t-shirt with frayed hems. Surrounding him was a futuristic station built upon a square platform, with lots of wires and cables hanging down. “Mister Stark, I cannot accept that.” A greasy finger wiggled into his direction.

“Ah, ah, ah – what did we agree upon? First name basis.”  
Wayne's responding smirk was sparse.  
“I am on the clock, for starters, and I do not condone you spending unnecessary money on my behalf.”

Without further ado, Stark unclipped a small power drill from a low-slung utility belt and drilled a hole into a metal plate. “Pshh, I know you have all my bank account details. Please go and have a good, hard look at them. If I wanna spend some pocket change on a couple of sweaters and track pants for my assistant, I think I'm fine.” The Gothamite put his arms akimbo, going for a stern and steadfast stance.

Sadly, his effort was lost to his employer who started fumbling with a wire to get it to slip through the drilled hole.

“That's exactly the point. I am your assistant and not your roommate.” When Tony did look at him, his expression spoke of cheeky fondness. “I know. But I live here and I need my assistant around 24/7. Okay, maybe not 24/7, but you knew this wasn't a classic 9 – 5 when you signed the contract. Besides, what's wrong with making life easier?” The billionaire then gave his assistant another of those dissecting, long stares.

“Also, while you really have this sleek GQ look down pat, let's make this house a business-suit-free-zone form now on. At least until something super important comes up. Deal?” Wayne adjusted his glasses. “Dealing with your life is right there in that super important range if I may remind you.” With a wink, Tony turned his back on him and continued to work; a sign Bruce interpreted as implicit trust.

Stark's shirt rode up as he stretched his arms to reach into a large metal tube above, revealing a tanned strip of skin above the waistband of his boxer shorts. “Lately not, Obie's is. He mails sometimes. Right now he's in New York to mollify the board.” His voice sounded hollow. Bruce inwardly filed that information away. He had unlimited access to Tony Stark's email account, but mails from Stane had never shown up.

He also filed away the image of those two prominent back dimples and cleared his throat as quiet and unobtrusive as he could.

“I see.”

+

Later that week, on a Friday evening around 5 pm, Bruce Wayne entered the holy halls of his employer once again. He was dressed in a pair of beige chinos with a brown belt, matching shoes, and a light blue button-down shirt with no tie and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Wearing a huge, black welding helmet atop his head, Tony stopped in mid-motion, stared at him for the longest time, and broke into a wide grin soon after.

“Nice. Still a bit on the preppy side, but getting there.”

With that, he slammed the helmet's visor down and switched on a welding torch. Bruce narrowed his eyes and took several steps back. “I cannot say the same for you. You have been down in the workshop for the past eight hours. You are in dire need of a shower, shave, and a complete overhaul of your current wardrobe.” After several minutes, the flame got cut off and the welding helmet turned into his direction.

“Passive-agressive's never attractive, Bruce.”

The voice was muffled, but cheeky. Arms crossed in front of his chest, the Gothamite eyed the stains on Stark's wifebeater. “So is smelling like rancid butter from five feet away.” Tony pushed the helmet off his head and revealed even more rumpled hair and a sweated countenance. “Never knew you cared that much, buttercup.” It was accompanied by a smirk that lacked true leering and held more of a flirty undertone.

Bruce chose to ignore it and ushered his employer into the elevator all the way up to the first floor. “It would be favorable to take a shower since I asked the tailor to come in and take care of the hem of your tuxedo pants for tonight's gala.” He allowed his employer to enter his bedroom first, scowling at the dark grease stains Tony's working boots left on the plush, off-white carpeting. Stark craned his neck to look at him.

“What gala? Also - are you saying I'm short?”

“The Annual Firefighters' Family Fund. And I am not, but your pant legs are half an inch too long for the shoes you are going to be wearing.”

Stark put a finger to his bottom lip in mock-concentration. “That's quite a mouthful. I'll just find a better pair of shoes then, problem solved. And for the record: I'm not short, I'm reduced to the best.” With that, Tony brushed past him and disappeared inside his large closet. Bruce followed along; clipboard in one hand, the other slipping into the pocket of his chino pants. Eventually, a silver high-top sneaker whooshed through the air.

“You are not wearing those, Mister Stark.”  
The second shoe sailed past him seconds later.  
"Not. Short.”

When Tony's head reappeared around the many shelves, his grin was even bigger than before.

“What are you going to wear tonight, by the way?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's new office inspired by these designs: 
> 
> http://www.architectureartdesigns.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/1033-630x470.jpg  
> https://st.hzcdn.com/simgs/49715f7c0f300066_4-5524/contemporaneo-despacho.jpg
> 
> Also, with Bruce dressed like this  
> https://i.pinimg.com/736x/a3/cc/c6/a3ccc6517757e6cbbad25c053fe18354--navy-dress-pants-dress-shirts.jpg  
> it's a bit of a shame Tony makes him ditch the suits ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which things are on the move

Bruce Wayne did not know what had possessed him to give in and accompany his employer to the gala, but there he was, in front of the vast concert hall in downtown LA, surrounded by the rich and the famous. Live piano music reached his ears as it drifted through the air from inside the venue; creating a cacophony of sounds together with the chatter and laughter of invitees arriving by the minute.

After Tony had let him go home to get changed, they agreed on meeting up at the concert hall at 8 pm. Much to his surprise, Stark arrived on time in his flashy silver Audi R8, heading through the crowd of spectators, reporters, and guests with an air of ease while his eyes were trained on one person waiting for him atop the stairs. “Knew you'd own a tux.” Stark gave his assistant a thorough once-over. “Good fit, too. Didn't expect less.”

The Gothamite chose to let his flattery pass without comment. Instead, he made a small gesture for him to lead the way.

“Tony.”

A deep voice made them both turn around. Obadiah Stane stood next to a huge marble statue in the foyer, scrutinizing them with a peculiar tug around the mouth. He too wore a black tuxedo, and a white scarf was draped around his shoulders like an expensive boa constrictor made from cashmere. “Didn't expect you to be here tonight.” His eyes slid over to size up the taciturn Gothamite by his side. Stark clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, well, my name's on the invitations, no? Don't worry, I'm gonna take a backseat, have a couple of drinks, mingle a bit. Bruce here will make sure to keep me in check.” Again, Stane's beady eyes focused on the Gothamite. “Alright.” His smile held a rather perilous touch. “I am counting on it, Mister Wayne.” Stane then got flanked by two women in robes and headed onward, a hand on each of the small of their backs.

After Tony and Bruce watched him leave with pensive expressions, Stark exhaled. “This is the point where I need a drink.” At that, his assistant squared his shoulders and inched his glasses up higher. “What do you want me to get you?” A hand landed on his arm, then the billionaire leaned in close and spoke into his ear. “Nope, let's switch things up tonight. You go get us a table, I'll take care of this.”  
  
Before Bruce could object, Tony had already turned around and sashayed on through the masses in expensive robes. Wayne refrained from tugging at the hem of his tuxedo jacket and sighed to himself. The air was thick with the smell of finger food, offered by waiters with endless trays of hors-d'oeuvres of the warm and cold kind, as well as expensive perfume and fragrance, and a faint note of alcoholic beverages.

After retreating to a small, vacant bar table in the corner, Bruce started scanning the crowd.

+

“Same old Tony. Some things never change.”  
  
Tony ran into his business partner at the large bar again, as he stood and nervously drummed his fingers onto the counter, waiting for his orders. It would be the first time since his return from Afghanistan that he attempted to have a drink, after more than three months of abstinence. He hoped Bruce, too, would not mind a martini. Obadiah's grin turned wide amid his full beard. Tony replied with an equally fake smile.  
  
“Well, gotta show the world I'm not half-dead and bed-ridden like those TMZ reports claim me to be.”

The two martinis appeared in front of his nose, and he stuffed a fifty dollar bill into the tip jar. Before he could grab the beverages and head back to his assistant, however, Stane put a conciliatory hand upon his shorter companion's shoulder. “Oh, Tony. If only you knew.”

Stark's brown eyes narrowed at the sympathetic tone.  
“What? Knew what?”  
Meaty fingers tightened into a pinch Tony could feel through his clothes.  
  
“The board is claiming post-traumatic stress. They have filed an injunction to lock you out.”

Blood began to rush in Tony's ears, so loud that he started to raise his voice. “What? Like hell! We own the controlling interest in the company, they can't...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just because I'm starting being responsible I get kicked out like a stray dog?” Now Obadiah's squeeze to his clavicle felt like a steel vise.

“I wanted to tell you in private, but since you're here tonight... Tony. Don't look at me like that. Think about it. It's in the company's best interest. I just got back from New York. I promised the board you'd lay low in public, so if you want to help and facilitate the whole process, you really need to play along for now.”

Once he had stumbled back into the big hall, drinks forgotten, the questioning eyes of his assistant instantly found his. Tony put up a fake reassuring grin that came out shaky at the edges. Honest concern shone from behind Wayne's glasses. “Is everything okay? Do you want to sit down?” A shuddering breath escaped Tony's lips. “No, I gotta-” He forced down the sudden feeling of having to throw up. “Be right back, kay?”

With that, he made a beeline for the veranda of the grand ballroom, stumbling through the crowd like a drowning man.

+

Once he had made it out onto the terrace, the cool air helped Tony to gather his jumbled thoughts. He braced himself against the solid parapet and took a couple of deep breaths, staring out into the night skies of downtown Los Angeles.

“--er Stark?”

When he blinked, his assistant stood right next to him. Behind his glasses, Bruce Wayne was frowning. “Are you alright? You looked like you were miles away.” Traffic noise from down below reached their ears. Tony said nothing. Hazel eyes never left him. “Want to tell me where you've been?” A deflecting smile appeared on Stark's lips. “A shitty place. Lots of sand.” It was a murmur, and Wayne's gaze filled with concern.

Before Bruce was able to say something, Tony gnawed on the soulpatch part of his goatee and shook his head. “Not going there tonight, okay?” The smile he put up was brave. The billionaire then shifted into a casual stance, put his elbows upon the lithic balustrade, and crossed his ankles.

“Wanna dance?”  
He cocked his head into the direction of the ballroom. In seconds, the Gothamite's cheeks turned a surprising shade of red.  
“No thank you.”

He deflected by adjusting his glasses. Stark cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?” Wayne gave a small tilt of his head. “I doubt that is socially acceptable.” It sounded so impartial that Tony rolled his eyes. “It's the 21st century, who even cares about socially acceptable?” Bruce kept on regarding him in the same undetached manner. “You should, given your status.” Stark snorted and glanced out at LA's skyline again.

Wayne watched his profile, the taut lines on his neck and jaw, and the way his unruly hair had broken free from its gelled rigor and whipped in the soft summer night's breeze. Parts of Stark's reactor were visible left and right of his tie, if only to the trained eye of his assistant. “I wonder-” Tony paused, squinted, and shuffled into an upright position just as his hands disappeared inside the pockets of his dress pants.

“If I wasn't who I was... would it... would you...?”  
He licked his lips and simultaneously focused on Bruce's mouth. Wayne swallowed and dropped his gaze.  
“Who would you be?”

It was a sincere and non-judgmental whisper. When Bruce's eyes traveled back up, Tony Stark's dark, soulful ones were firmly trained on him. They regarded each other for the longest time, then Tony slightly rose to his toes until they were at eye level. His lips quirked with something like sad bravado. “Someone worthy.” Little by little, the distance between them seemed to dissipate although neither was aware of moving.

Loud giggles from the patio door made them draw apart less than a second later. They watched a renowned, stout senator mock-chase a young, scantily-clad, shrieking woman over into a dark corner of the terrace. Previous spell broken, Bruce Wayne took a step back, checked his watch, and cleared his throat. “I think we should call it a day.” Not meeting his gaze, Tony gave a rather sinister nod and started heading towards the ballroom.

Bruce followed him at an appropriate distance until they stood down in the foyer of the concert hall. “I'll give you a ride home.” Tony's voice was as detached as the five-feet gap he kept between the two of them. Wayne shook his head. “You don't have to.” Stark thrust a ticket and a folded bill at an approaching valet and crammed his hands back into the pockets of his tuxedo. “'S fine. I hauled you here against your will after all.”

His voice was snippy and Bruce knew better than to argue.

The distinctive roar of the R8 engine soon filled the air, and they hurried to get inside.

“Where to?”

“Brentwood.”

No words were spoken between them while the R8 sped along the I-10 W. Stark drove aggressive, though not above speeding limits. Once they had reached the distinctive part of West Los Angeles, Bruce pointed ahead at a lit-up Chipotle restaurant. “You can let me out at that corner.” Tony's face darkened even further. “Very well.” With an audible downshift, the sports car stopped in the second row, close to the sidewalk.

Quick to unbuckle, Bruce looked at his reticent driver. “Thank you.” A mechanic nod was all he received. “Good night, Mister Stark.” He saw his employer's hands claw a bit tighter around the steering wheel. Tony's mouth curved into a sullen grimace. “Good night, Mister Wayne.” The billionaire kept his eyes on the road as Bruce got out. The moment he had slammed the passenger door shut, the Audi's engine revved out loud.

A group of young guys who were sitting outside the Mexican grill restaurant for a late-night snack whooped out loud as the supercar surged ahead at high velocity. Watching its taillights until they had disappeared around a corner, Bruce Wayne eventually turned and started walking the final 0.2 miles towards his apartment down the street.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we go from holding grudges to holding surprises

Tony Stark could fly.

At least the armor he had been working on in private for the past few weeks could. Only Jarvis was in on his secret for now, after Tony did not know how to deal with the transposition that had occurred between him and Bruce since the night at the gala. Or was it a transgression? He was unsure. Wayne was all the way back to being the consummate professional he was, and Tony had kept his distance.

Once Bruce had left the premises after another day's work, Tony had suited up and took the suit out for a spin. His first test flight was amazing but ended with a crash all the way through his house, pancaking his beloved Shelby Cobra, and getting doused in extinguishing vapor by a frantic and overly-helpful Dummy.

After stowing away the suit and cleaning up the mess as good as possible, Tony felt the need for some real sleep in his bed after pulling several all-nighters in a row. He woke on a sunny and warm Friday morning around 10:30 and shuffled into the kitchen to be greeted by the very vexed countenance of his assistant.

Bruce swiveled around from where he had stared at the remains of what used to be the shining black Blüthner grand piano upon the gallery. “There is a hole in the living room.” A scowl worth of a thousand burning infernos manifested itself upon his face. Yawning open-mouthed at him, Tony scratched his belly and shuffled over to press the button on the espresso machine.

“I know.”

“What did you do?”

The loud sputtering of the Italian machine gave Tony time to answer. Once he had inhaled the strong brew from the small cup, he shrugged. “Worked on something with a bit more oomph than expected.” Wayne stepped around some debris and closed up to him. “-are you alright?” Feeling like under a microscope all of a sudden, Tony backed off slightly. “Bumped my head, but yeah. Sure. So, could you kindly fix it?”

“Your head?”

Tony bared his teeth at him and his deadpan attempt at humor. “Too late for that. No, smart-ass, the extra ventilation.” He gestured at the gaping abyss that led down into the workshop. His assistant nodded. “I already called a structural architect to come by this afternoon. A load-bearing wall might have been hit.” Seeing his employer probe and finger the back of his head, Wayne went to the fridge. “Here.” An ice pack was in his hand.

Tony took it and put it on his head with a little hiss. Bruce frowned. “Do you need to be checked out by a doctor?” He looked as if he was about to insist on a full medical evaluation, so Tony cut him short. “Just a bump. I'll live.” Pivoting on his heel, he left his assistant standing in the kitchen and trotted down into his sanctuary. Once he had shut the door, Tony saw the parcel wrapped in simple brown paper sitting on his desk.

It had not been there the night before. He put the ice pack aside and tore into the paper. A square 7×7 glass cubicle stared back at him. Inside, his former ARC reactor was mounted upon a stand connected to a polished metallic base. A ring made from stainless steel was fixated around it, its engraving reading 'Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart'. Tony tilted the glass case upward with a pensive expression.

A small smile then made him curl his upper lip.

+

Around 6 pm, Tony sauntered upstairs, immediately after Jarvis had announced to him that his assistant was about to leave. He found Wayne walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room where he had apparently been working instead of his office upstairs. Their eyes met, but Tony was the first to look away, even as he spoke in a casual-sounding way. “Ready for the weekend?” Bruce gave a noncommittal nod.

“Yes. The architect has left ten minutes ago. Renovations are going to start on Monday.”

Stark mimicked him and scanned the area now hidden behind bright construction tape. “I'm not wearing a hard hat, fair warning.” It sounded far less petulant and more conciliatory. Bruce clicked his attache case shut with a smirk. “And you don't have to. But the workers will need half a day access to your workshop.” Still nodding along, albeit lackadaisical, Tony sauntered over to the kitchen counter, idling between two bar stools.

“Any plans for tonight? TGIF, you know. So what's cooking - gym, the movies, a hot date?”

Again, his voice sounded overly casual, but the way he traced a finger along the kitchen counter spoke of underlying nervousness. From underneath long lashes, he followed Bruce Wayne's every move as the latter collected the rest of his belongings, put his coffee cup and glass into the dishwasher, and did a double-check on the contents of the large fridge. “Matter of fact no. Laundry night.”

It was said with the utmost seriousness and made Tony erupt in a heartfelt sigh. “How sad.” The billionaire then folded his arms across the granite surface and leaned forward until his feet were dangling in the air. “How about going for an after-work drink? Couple of decent hole-in-the-wall bars alongside the PCH.” Wayne's lips curved just the way Tony recognized as being about to be rebuffed.

“That's really nice, b...”

Quick to interrupt, Tony put on his best set of puppy dog eyes and curled his lips into something like a pout. “See, I do wanna go out for a drink, but with that bump on my head I'm not sure if it is safe to go alone.” Bruce snapped his mouth shut and furrowed his brows behind his glasses. “If you still feel unwell, we should get you to a doctor and not go out for drinks.” Tony rubbed his forehead and snapped his fingers.

“Wow, look at that - headache's all gone. Great! Let me just hop in the shower real quick.”

He was gone before the Gothamite was able to say a word.

Left behind, Bruce dropped his attache case back on the kitchen counter and allowed the long, suffering sigh to escape his lips.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Mister Wayne?”

“Have you scanned him for head injuries? Thoroughly?”

“Of course, Mister Wayne.”   
The AI sounded self-complacent, even though Bruce knew that should technically not be possible. His face darkened.  
“Of course.”

+

20 minutes later, he sat on the couch in the living room when Stark skipped down the stairs. His hair was combed back and darker than usual which meant it was still damp. He was dressed in a non-see-through black polo shirt, and a pair of slim fit, white shorts. A pair of checkered slip-on Vans sat on his bare feet while an expensive pair of sunglasses was nestled inside the shirt's collar. His white teeth gleamed at Wayne.  
  
“Let's go.”  
  
A whiff of shower gel and aromatic fragrance caught Bruce's nostrils as he got up to follow him outside to where Stark's Audi was parked up.

Wayne got into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Make a note - I need another convertible." Tony kept on talking as he turned the keys and let the engine purr. "Driving with the top down would've been neat tonight.” Bruce turned his head to look at him. From close up, he could see how accurate his goatee was trimmed. “The Shelby Cobra...” Stark pulled a face, put the R8 into drive mode, and slipped on his designer shades.

“Totaled. Don't remind me. It's part of why I need a drink.”

With that, he turned the wheel with a casual twist of his palm and put his foot down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, we all remember this scene - poor Shelby Cobra (replica only, thankfully):  
> https://www.imcdb.org/v173154.html


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is disarming candor

The bar Tony had chosen was a vintage-looking beach cottage with a direct ocean view and white-painted furniture made from rough planks of wood. It had a makeshift parking lot with lots of sand that crunched underneath the Audi's massive wheels. The place seemed fairly frequented but as soon as they went inside, they got seated at a table in a secluded area out on the patio, the ocean at their feet.

Bruce glimpsed at the laminated list of beverages on the table while his employer sprawled out in his chair across from him. One of Stark's sneakers touched Wayne's feet by accident, and both men politely shuffled out of the way. “Made up your mind?” Tony's voice was sonorous. Eyes still skimming along the list, Bruce eventually put the menu aside and leaned back, careful with stretching out his legs.

“Just a soda.”

When a waitress with sandy-blonde hair approached their table, Tony gave her a dimply smile. “Two Saint Clements.” She was quick to jot the order down and leave. Bruce glowered at him, but before he said something, he glimpsed at the menu once more. Tony gestured a lazy hand about. “That's basically like a soda, just with a little more taste.” Seeing the choice Stark had made was non-alcoholic, Bruce chose to let it slide.

As soon as they each were served a tall glass with fresh orange juice and bitter lemon, Tony leaned back and regarded the man opposite of him. “So. Why don't I know anything about you?” A flicker of guarded, hazel eyes. “Pardon?” Tony gestured around his fruity drink. “Like, why does a guy like you do laundry on Friday night, for starters, what's your favorite NBA team, or which kind of car you drive.”

Bruce threaded the straw through the clinking ice cubes in his glass. “I have a very demanding job, for starters, and I don't own a car.” His indulgent voice made Tony lean forward with a diabolically raised eyebrow. “Is that a subtle hint at getting a raise?” A mutual smirk. “No. I've got a bike. Motorbike”, Bruce added after seeing the peculiar tug around his employer's mouth. Tony mulled over that before his grin turned shrewd.

“Hmm. Skillfully dodged the NBA question I see. Makes me think it'd be wise not to start digging deeper.”

Wayne inclined his head. “You got me there.” He then proceeded to take out the straw, put it aside on the mini napkin, and raised his glass for a first sip. Stark studied him carefully. “And?” The tip of Bruce's tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth. “Refreshing.” It prompted Tony to reach for his own drink with a content expression. Once he also had his first taste, he held the glass up as if to inspect it.

“My very first non-alcoholic cocktail. And to think I used to drink this with at least half of it filled with gin. What a downgrade.”

Wayne's bottom lip twitched. “Feel free to order something stronger, I can drive.” The waitress interrupted Tony's reply by walking around the terrace with a stick lighter and lighting the bulbous candle inside glass vases filled with sand and seashells on the tables. “Can I get you guys anything else to eat? Today's special is fried calamari.” Tony shook his head with another charming smile.

By the time she was gone, Bruce had cast his eyes out to where the ocean lay in the magnificent hues of sundown. For a while, Stark simply watched the breeze play with his hair and the collar of his shirt. Fascinated by the way the flickering candle drew shadows all over Wayne's face, highlighting his cheekbones, Tony sipped from his beverage again. “Nah. Palladium and booze don't seem a wise mixture.”

That got him his assistant's undivided attention. “Are you feeling any side-effects or particular ailments?” He nodded at Tony's shirt. “Apart from my forced teetotalism, diminished lung capacity, rapid decrease in any social activities, and overall state of severe underfuckedness you mean?” It came out blunt enough for the Gothamite to raise both eyebrows. “Sorry, was that TMI?” Stark's usual slickness was back; his smirk rogue.

“Pardon my French but I prolly need to get laid.”  
Wayne schooled his features back into a blank mask.  
“Well, your blood work came back clean, I don't see why... not.”  
  
Tony put one elbow up on the backrest of the empty chair next to him and tapped at his chest.  
  
“With this thing here? Fat chance in hell. Just kidding anyhow. I got more important things to think about.”

“Like?”

“Like realizing there's more to life than doing stuff for profit and fun. Blowing coke and blowing shit up to watch the big fat paychecks roll in only gets you so far at the end of the day, y'know?” His sturdy fingers wiped at the moisture around his glass with a pensive look. When he raised his head, Wayne was watching him intently. "And?" The billionaire gave a grim smile though his eyes were ablaze with determination.

“I finally realized what I gotta do. And I know in my heart that it's right.”

Slurping the rest of his drink in one go and pulling a face at the taste of melted ice cubes, Tony then signaled their waitress. He slipped her a fifty dollar bill from a thick bundle in a money clip, told her to keep the rest, and got up. Sand crunched under their shoes as they walked back over to the R8. Although he unlocked the car, Tony remained standing by the open driver's door, glancing out at the ocean.

His fingers drummed on the rooftop for the longest time, then he glimpsed over to where Wayne also stood next to the open door, giving him time for whatever was on his mind. Stark pulled a face and stopped drumming. “D'you think I'm crazy, Bruce?” Part of Tony expected the classic “You don't pay me to think” answer Wayne was so fond of, part of him feared a stereotypical quote about the thin line between sanity and genius.

Instead, the Gothamite put his elbow on the roof and cast him a serious look.  
“You have to be in order to make it in this world.”  
A slow, daring smile wormed its way upon Tony's face. He gave a final slap to the metal and nodded.

“Hop on in.”

+

Back at the mansion, the Audi stopped in front of the main entrance.

“This was nice.”

Again, Tony sounded overly casual as he turned off the engine. Bruce gave a dutiful nod as he unbuckled. “It was. Goodnight.” Stark watched him head inside, only to reappear with his attache case slung across his torso moments later. In the dim light outside the mansion, Tony had to look twice until he spotted the sleek black motorbike in the corner. He got out of his seat and gestured between the Audi and the bike.

“Drag race. You vs. the R8. Dare?”

Bruce straddled the machine in one swift move and unhooked a helmet from the handlebar. “Don't do it.” His expression was surprisingly wolfish. Tony huffed. “So convinced you're gonna win, huh? Listen up, buster - I never was good at taking a back seat.” Wayne slipped his helmet on and gave a pat to the rear seat. “First time for everything.” He smirked at his employer before the dark visor came down and the bike roared out.

With a cheeky victory sign, Tony leaned against his car and watched him speed down the long, palm tree-lined driveway.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which certain promises need to be kept

On Monday morning, Bruce experienced a surprisingly tame work day. Tony made himself scarce, due to the presence of several construction workers around, but was still cooperative whenever it came to signing documents and giving answers Bruce was able to pass on without having to re-formulate them into polite English first.

Because of the reconstruction period, Bruce had a very late lunch when the workers left for the day. He was just about to unwrap his whole-wheat sandwich when a voice from the basement interrupted him. “Mind if I join you?” Stark was wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled closer into the open kitchen. Bruce made a welcoming gesture. “Not at all.” Tony plopped into the chair opposite of him and eyed their two plates.

“Why don't I get that?”  
Wayne eyed his pastrami sandwich and Stark's ham and cheese variation.  
“It's not on your preferences list.”

His employer shrugged and reached for his lunch. “Reevaluating life choices comes without lists. Can we split?” Even as he asked his hand reached for one half of Bruce's sandwich, and the Gothamite let him exchange them. For a while, they sat and ate in companionable silence before Tony asked Jarvis to play quiet classic rock in the background. He then licked mustard off his thumb and cocked his head.

“So. I've thought about this, by the way.”

He received a blank stare, rolled his eyes, and simultaneously grabbed his borrowed sandwich half. “The backseat ride? On your bike? Or were you just bluffing?” Bruce wiped his fingers on a napkin before he adjusted his glasses with what Tony decided was a trained look of importance. “The one you said you were never good at?” Mouth full of pastrami, Stark washed his bite down with an obscenely loud slurp on the straw of his Coke.

“Pshh. If I needed a professional dictation recorder, I'd ask Jarvis. You game or not?”

Wayne crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball. “Only if you have a helmet.” He got a supercilious glare. With the final remains of his lunch stuffed into his mouth, Stark slid off the chair and disappeared upstairs. He was back five minutes later. A red-white helmet was in his hand and a black leather jacket over his arm. “Now?” His assistant's voice spoke of incredulity. Tony put the helmet on the counter and leaned his torso over it.

“A little fresh air after eating never hurt nobody.”  
  
Bruce glimpsed at his watch.   
“We are approaching rush hour.”  
At the doubt in his voice, Tony slapped the helmet with finalization.

“So hurry up then, time's a wastin!”

+

Ten minutes later, the Suzuki sprang to life with a roar and idled along while Bruce steadied the bike with both feet. Tony put a hand on his shoulder and a foot on the peg before he flung himself up from the left side and got seated. Both of them were already wearing gloves and helmets with the visors still open. Wayne turned around, mindful of their mutual equilibrium. “Riding in the back requires you to-”

“-lean in with you, yeah, I know my way around bikes. Let's go already.”

As if on cue, one of Tony's arms went from the tank to firmly reach around his assistant's waist. “Go left on Birdview Avenue and Westward Beach Road and on the PCH.” Instead of an answer, Bruce slammed down his visor and Tony did the same. Stark Mansion's driveway was vast and long enough to get into the feeling of riding with a passenger, and Bruce tested out if he was still able to take corners with added weight.

Behind him, Tony kept a solid grip around his midriff and indeed went along with his driver at each and every turn. For the first two minutes, Bruce took things easy and smooth to get heat in the tires. He was cautious about brakes and lean angles even when he started going a bit faster. They stopped at a junction, and Stark used the moment to push up his visor. “Okay now, I can take it. Gimme that almost flying feel, will ya.”

After Bruce had made sure to double-check the streets left and right, he glimpsed into the rearview mirror and smirked behind his visor. “Hold on tight.” The Suzuki let out an aggressive scream and surged ahead as he released throttle. Despite the fact that Stark's visor was down again, Bruce heard him whoop out loud.

+

They made it back to the mansion after an hour of chasing the sun and whooshing past never-ending waves breaking on the shoreline. Filled with a rush of adrenaline, Stark shoved the visor up and grinned at bespectacled eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. “I gotta say there's only one thing better than this almost-flying feel.” Wayne tilted his head. “Which is?” Tony pulled the helmet off and rubbed at his matted hair.

“Flying yourself.”

Bruce also relieved himself of his helmet. Much to Tony's chagrin, his hair almost instantly fell back into place. “Don't tell me you want to go get yourself a pilot license.” Stark's expression turned into a strange mixture between serene and cheeky. “Not really, no.” He wobbled the first two steps back on solid ground, but Wayne was polite enough to refrain from making a comment and suppressed a smirk.

What started out as a manly clap on Bruce's shoulder as Tony steadied himself then lingered a trifle longer than necessary. “But this was definitely inspiring. Thanks for the ride.” For the rest of the day, Stark did not show up again after holing up in his workshop. Feeling strange after the unusual team event and its following solitude, Bruce found himself resuming his work in the kitchen instead of his office upstairs.

After he had taken up a strategic seat with a direct view on the basement stairs, Wayne blinked distracted eyes back on his notebook screen. His inbox read 25 new mails, and he had to organize two phone conferences, each in three different time zones. Instead, Bruce's eyes traveled back over to where the two empty plates still stood on the granite counter. “Jarvis? Please add pastrami sandwich to Mister Stark's preference list.”

“Already done, Mister Wayne.”

+

When the Gothamite entered the workshop a little after 6 pm the following Thursday night, it was to an odd creation in the middle of an ominous platform. Tony Stark, hair sticking up in all directions, threw him and the bag of bagels he had brought along a manic look that spoke of minimal sleep and too much coffee. “Ha! There's the man of the hour! Bruce! Bruce! Bruce, come over here and marvel!”  
  
Not changing either his stride or facial expression, Wayne stepped closer and put the bagels on the desk.  
  
“What is this?”

“It's a suit.”

“For what?”

“For me. Though I might be persuaded into making one for you, too, someday. Maybe. If you ask nicely.”

“No, thanks.”

Wayne's tone, coupled with his deadpan look were so characteristic, they made Tony put his arms akimbo. “Look, I don’t care what you think.” Bruce's left eyebrow quirked, together with the corner of his mouth. “Oh, but you do.” Tony paused, only to drop his arms as well as his chin to his head with a dramatic sigh. “... you’re right, I do.” He cleared his throat and put up a coy grin. “So, humor me, c'mon, have a look at my opus.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's bike is supposed to look like this:  
> https://www.revzilla.com/product_images/0053/6411/scorpion_rp1_gp_series_slip_on_exhaust_suzuki_gsxr100020052006_750x750.jpg


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a huge, pink elephant enters the room

A little wary, the Gothamite moved closer to the lifeless, metal shell. Tony pointed a tool at the 3D holographics on a nearby monitor. “See, there's thrusters for aerial maneuvers, jetpack boots, and a fully functional head up display. Plus, I uploaded Jarvis to be my trusted navigator and co-pilot.” After he had sized it up from head to toe, Bruce turned back to his employer who regarded him with barely contained curiosity.

“So? Gimme the verdict, Mister Wayne.”

Just before the silence became too poignant for Tony to start tapping his foot, Bruce inclined his head. “This is incredibly impulsive.” He got an eager nod and a wide pearly white grin in return. “Yep. That's kinda my jam, Bruce. For real, though - isn't that the greatest thing you've ever seen in your life? Huh?” Said man eyed sharp-edged, back-mounted ailerons with utmost skepticism. “It's also the most suicidal thing.”

Dampened by so much open pessimism, Tony threw the monkey wrench in his hand back into the toolbox. “That... not so much.” That time, a certain, awkward kind of silence stretched out between them. Eventually, Bruce crossed his arms and gave the suit another once-over. “What are you planning to do with it?” The smirk that appeared on Tony's lips held a daredevil touch. “Righting my wrongs about sums it up.”  
  
Bruce's brows furrowed. “I'm afraid I don't quite follow.” His eyes, however, did follow his employer as Tony went to retrieve a piece of dark-blue fabric that looked like a neoprene suit from the backrest of his couch. “Means I'll be heading out. Overseas.” He disappeared in the workshop's lavatory area only to reappear clad in the fitted undersuit a few moments later. Wayne's glasses flashed in the light as their eyes met.  
  
“No.”  
  
Undeterred, Tony made a beeline for the bagel bag. “Yes. Hey, I call ya sometime. Promise.” Feeling like he was fighting a lost battle, Bruce uncrossed his arms and put them akimbo. “What prompted this need for a crazy crusade?” Stark stuffed a big chunk of a bagel into his mouth and washed it down with the remains from a soda can. “I'd love to put the blame on your hellride on two wheels, but there's another reason.”

“Such as?”

Still chewing, Tony walked over to the platform with its many white lines and numbers on the floor. “They had my weapons, Bruce, where I was kidnapped, okay? They are getting Stark Industries' weapons to terrorize innocent people. I am going to fuck up their game from now until forever! Or at least until there's not a single fucking missile or grenade with the damn SI logo on them on this planet, you got that?!”

Tony blew out his cheeks and rubbed his face down to the corners of his mouth. Bruce cleared his throat after a good ten seconds, making him turn back around. “You better not screw this up.” Hazel eyes narrowed with worry and doubt while instant incense flitted over Stark's features.  
  
“Course not.”

+

“Hi, it's me. I... I screwed up.”  
On the other end of the line, Bruce Wayne's eyes remained on the screen of his notebook while his fingers flew over the keys at a fast rate.  
“You have to be more specific.”

Loud sounds interrupted the voice inside his headset for a few moments; sounds like airflow and heavy gunfire.

“Could you look into my last tetanus shot status for me?”  
Long fingers paused typing for the briefest second.  
“Please don't say you've impaled yourself on something.”

“I have not impaled myself on something. Technically.”  
His voice sounded evasive. Bruce pressed 'send' with more force than necessary and stopped typing.  
“Tony...”

“I'm serious, Handsome, please go and look up my stats. I'd ask Jarvis, but he's kinda busy... calculating.”

Choosing to let the endearment pass without a comment, Bruce did as he was told. His eyes skimmed along rows of information until he found the one he was looking for. “Your TDAP shot is up to date, but there is a 25 percent chance any kind of infection will spread if treatment is not provided within reasonable--”

“Swell! Thanks, Honey. Listen, I gotta go now, so why don't you call it a day, huh. Don't wait up for me!”

Bruce tried to call out his name once more, but only got the busy signal in his ear.

+

It was 02:37 am the next morning when Bruce got a call from Jarvis about his presence being requested at the mansion. It was 03:12 am when he parked his motorbike right in front of the circular driveway and keyed his way in. As expected, he found Tony Stark down in his workshop, scorched armor halfway off, halfway on his body.

“Am I in trouble?”

Tony's voice was scratchy and accompanied by a cough. Bruce hunkered down and gave a first, rather experimental tug at a deformed piece of metal. “Take a guess.” They locked eyes. “No?” Stark sounded cheerful despite his bloody and battered countenance. Bruce remained impassive.

“Take another guess.”  
A deformed metal bolt came off with a screech and a ping. Tony grimaced, revealing crimson-coated teeth.  
“Careful there, Gorgeous, 's thing's a prototype. One of a kind.”  
  
Disdain was written all over Bruce's face as he wrangled with sharp-edged metal to pry it open for Tony to get out without adding more scratches.  
  
“Like you.”

Much to his surprise, Tony remained quiet at that and let him work on the dented shoulder parts in peace. Bit by bit, parts of the suit came down and landed on the concrete floor with a resounding clatter. Once he was done freeing his employer, Bruce shook his head at the tattered neoprene suit Tony wore underneath. “What's the point of armor if you end up looking like this?” He pronounced the word armor in a derisive way.

Stark only grunted and held out a hand instead. Wayne took it to drag him to his feet with care and helped him walk over to the couch. “Bah. You should see the other guy.” Tony hissed when his assistant's hand dug into a hidden bruise close to his ribcage by accident. “How'd you get here so fast? Or am I having a concussion that's warping time?” The AI, quiet until the very moment, chimed in.

“Mister Wayne arrived on his Suzuki GSXR 1000 K5 with a modified exhaust and no helmet, going at least 60 mph over the speeding limit, calculating by the velocity I measured upon his arrival on the premises. That being said, you do have a mild concussion, Sir.”

With a self-complacent groan, Tony lowered himself onto the couch. “Huh. Looks like I ain't the only one with a suicidal streak. Pot calling kettle, B.” Said man remained impassive. “That is different.” Tony's eyes roamed all over his assistant's attire of black shirt, jeans, leather jacket, and uncommonly tousled hair. “S not. But I dig the windswept look.” Instead of a reply, Bruce slipped out of his jacket and went to get the first-aid kit.

Grabbing a bottle of orange-colored Gatorade from the fridge of the kitchenette, he took a seat on the edge of the couch. Wayne handed the drink over and clicked the plastic locks of the first-aid kit open. “Hold still, this might hurt quite a bit.” Tony smirked around the sports cap of the plastic bottle to hide the pain-filled hiss that escaped his lips. “Bet that's what you tell all your conquests du jour.”

Without further ado, the Gothamite then set out to work, disinfecting countless abrasions and testing multiple bruises for any deeper tissue injury or broken ribs. After he had thrown the empty bottle aside, Tony whistled a crooked little melody. “Who knew you'd be so good at this? Now I can safely go toe to toe with a tank every day.” Bruce's thin lips all but vanished. “If you hadn’t almost died, I’d be tempted to kill you.”

It was more of a grumble, muttered under his breath. Tony squinted up at his face and the way bespectacled eyes focused on another cut.

“Didn't peg you to be the sadistic... ouch... type.”

“I adjust well to my surroundings.”

“Seeing me bruised and banged up really brings out the best in you, Bruce.”

“Imagine what seeing you well-rested and well-fed will do to me.”

“Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

Tony bit his lip right after his blurted-out statement. Bruce just stared at him in his usual poker-faced way. Stark pulled a lopsided grin.

“Uh. That's gonna be hard to retcon, eh?”

Wayne opened his mouth but the only sound that came out was a sigh. “If you're done playing the hero now, we can get back to business.” He started repacking the first-aid kit, missing how in a matter of seconds, a variety of emotions flitted across Tony's expressive features, ranging from incredulity to undiluted anger.

“Playing the hero? _Playing?_ What the hell d'you think I've been doing for the past few weeks, huh? D'you think that all of this here-” Tony swung an arm around his workshop, enraged. “Is some sort of fucking carnival or what? Huh?” Bruce took his tantrum without visible emotion and snapped the kit shut. “You don't pay me to think, Mister Stark.” Before he could turn around and leave, Tony lurched out and caught him by the hand.

“The fuck! The fuck you're walking out on me like that! I'm your fucking boss, okay? You goddamn stay and listen to me, Wayne!”

Hazel eyes narrowed as Stark jumped to his feet, fingers like a vise around his wrist. “This is how you want to do things?” Another forceful yank brought them standing so close that Bruce was able to see the fire blazing in his employer's eyes. “I'll fuckin' show you how I wanna do things.”

With a final, furious pull, Tony crushed his mouth to Bruce's.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce totally raced his bike to Stark Mansion similar to this dude:  
> https://youtu.be/VmHCGHA1pn8?t=305


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which (overall) expectations are not met

Bruce's lips were warm and soft. And unresponsive. Tony growled against them and drew back with a huff, breathing hard. Wayne's eyes were open and unreadable. His chest, however, was visibly rising and falling underneath his fitted shirt. “That was unprofessional.” Bruce's voice was low and detached. Tony scoffed. “So sue me for sexual harassment.” He almost spat out the last words. “You wouldn't be the first one.”

He stalked off into the corner of his workshop, running both hands through his sweated, messy locks. “Might as well go and milk the story for the paparazzi, get something extra out of it. They pay well for those kinda stories.” His assistant shook his head and walked to put the first-aid kit back in its usual place. “Stop talking nonsense, Tony.” Said man spread his arms with a loud, derisive snort.  

“Why should I? I just went and fucked this one up royally.” He gestured in between them. “So I might as well keep on talking and make things worse. It's what I do best in case you don't remember my last press conference.” Tony stopped to breathe out with a shaky laugh and rubbed his face down with both palms. “I'd appreciate a little honesty, though. When's your last working day? Just so that I can be prepared.”

“I won't leave you.”  
  
Large brown eyes darted all over his face, searching for something. “Won't.” It sounded doubtful. Bruce shook his head. “No.” Once his burst of adrenaline had bled out, Tony sunk into the couch with a grunt and palmed his ribs. “Wonder why that is. I just molested you for fuck's sake!” Wayne put his hands on his hips and tried for a steadfast expression. “You're a good man, Tony. Stop telling yourself you are not.”

A finger pointed up in his direction. “I'm the fucking Merchant of Death in case you forgot. My weapons killed more people on this earth than my company's ever produced or invented stuff to help them. How's that for a good man's conscience!?” He paused to take a breath, wincing at the pain from his bruised ribs. “How could someone like you ever be able to understand what it's like regretting your life's choices.”

By now, Tony's smirk held a self-destructive edge. Bruce reached up with a hand and ran all fingers through his hair multiple times. He turned away from the couch and walked over to the workshop's windows. “I brought a gun to the hearing of my parents' murderer. A Brazilian six-shot Taurus. I tossed it in the docks the night of the trial.” After a brief silence, shuffling footsteps could be heard. A tender palm then touched his back.

“You... shot him?”

A shake of the head. “No. All the time I had thought it was the right thing to do, pictured it going down in my head step by step, but in the end, I... couldn't. I left Gotham the same night and never returned. I felt like I had failed my parents and was unworthy of their legacy.” The hand on his back moved until two strong arms encircled his waist, and Bruce let them. Several heartbeats later, he felt Tony's cheek rest against his skin.

“I'm sorry.”

When the Gothamite moved, it was with slow but firm motions. Tony released him as Wayne went to retrieve a glass filled with tap water and put it on the table, together with a small white bottle. "Take two ibuprofen and get some rest." A look of hesitation crossed Stark's features. “Are we... are we good?” Bruce grabbed his leather jacket, glanced over his shoulder, and inclined his head. “Yes. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

Long after he was gone, Tony kept on replaying the tiny, brief smile on Bruce's face over and over in his head.

+

When Bruce did not show up the next morning at the usual time, Tony put it down to him not sleeping well and coming in later. He himself had laid awake for most of the remaining night, too; mulling over all of the events of the previous hours, but mostly over the fateful kiss they had shared.

Fact was, Tony wanted to kiss him again; with Bruce actually liking and responding to it. Wanted to see what he looked and sounded like when he let go of his rigidity and gave into the passion Tony wanted to evoke in him. Would Bruce be the quiet kind, all hitched breaths and soft gasps, or would he be fierce and animalistic? A call with an unknown number then jerked him out of his amorous daydreams.

Grinning along, Tony was quick to press the answer button.

“You don't have to block your number cause you overslept. I ain't mad.”

“Tony Stark, we have something to discuss.”  
His grin vanished at the unknown, distorted voice.  
“Who's this?”

“Someone who wants to speak to you about a little donation.”

“Call my company's CSR department, pal, I'm sure they can help you better than I can.”  
Just as Tony was about to hang up, the voice on the other end gave a disturbing little chuckle.  
“What if I told you I have just the right kind of motivation right here, next to me?”

A tingling feeling erupting from the back of his head made Tony stand up from his chair and scowl at the black screen. “Listen buster, I can trace your connection and have you arrested before you even get to scratch your butt. Do you really wanna play games with me?” The voice took a few irregular breaths and made a noise which resembled a distorted laugh. “In that case, let me show you something that might change your mind.”

The call switched to video, and the only thing Tony saw at first was a desk in a nondescript, windowless room. There was movement off-screen, then something delicate glinted in the artificial light before it was placed right in front of the camera by a gloved hand. Tony took a sharp breath as he instantly recognized the item. A pair of glasses, one of their lenses cracked into many pieces, almost like a kaleidoscope.

“How about we start this conversation from the beginning, Mister Stark?”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is vengeance and rage

Blood rushed in Tony's ears. All he could focus on were Bruce's broken glasses.

“Where is he? I want to talk to him.”

The voice continued to speak from off-screen.

“Not possible.”

Fear gripped Tony's mangled heart tight.

“What have you done to him, you bastard?”

“Let's just say Mister Wayne is currently unable to meet your request.”  
Focusing on breathing in a steady rhythm just like Bruce had taught him to, Tony braced himself against his desk.  
“I need to know he's alive. Or else I'm coming for you like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, only worse.”

“You are in no position to make any threats, moneybags, but I am a generous person.”

The camera wobbled, then it was brandished about until it came to rest on a person lying curled up on a cot in the corner, arms tied up behind the back. Most of Bruce's face was hidden underneath mussed up bangs, but Tony still saw how his eyes were closed and he seemed completely unresponsive. Tony swallowed hard at the sight. “Swear to God if you hurt him, I'll...” All it earned him was a bored-sounding snort.

“Cut the dramatics, Stark. He will be kept sedated until I get what I want.”

“So what the fuck is it you want? Money?”

“The codes for all of your Swiss bank accounts.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Tony could not help but bark out a laugh. “The fuck I know those. Shouldn't have kidnapped my assistant, you wanker.” The camera turned black as if a cloth had been thrown over its lens, and footsteps could be heard. “Then I suppose I just have to beat the information out of him instead.” Panic set in, and Tony jumped to his feet. “No – NO! Wait!” His frantic eyes darted over the screen.

He sharply inhaled as the cloth was taken away an agonizing few moments later. A masked, stout man had entered the frame, walked over and gripped the unconscious man on the cot by the hair. It resulted in a brief, incoherent moan on Wayne's part. While Tony's blood boiled with rage at the sight, he was relieved to actually hear Bruce being alive. He swallowed. “Don't. Give me time to get the info you want.”

The grip on Bruce's hair eased up and his head dropped back down onto the cot like a puppet that had its strings cut. “You've got half an hour. For every extra minute, this guy here will either lose a finger or gain a bullet hole.” The screen went dark as the call disconnected. Gulping in too much air at once, Tony gritted his teeth and rubbed the area around his ARC.

“Jarvis, we're going on a seek and destroy mission. Find me the location in the video feed. I don't care how many rules you have to break to get it – upload it into the suit. I'll make this fucker pay! Bastard'll never know what hit him.”

“Very well, Sir. Connecting to local and national GPS satellites, servers, and secured firewalls.”

+

Half an hour later, Tony found out the area where his assistant had been kidnapped was a shady apartment complex on the outskirts of Pacoima. It turned out to be a sad one-man show with an unemployed dude in his fifties who had lost his job at an external supplier company which had gone bankrupt upon Tony's announcement to close down weapons' manufacturing.

Hidden behind the anonymity of his massive armor, Tony Stark barged in like he had in Gulmira, repulsors ablaze, and trashed the whole place in less than five minutes. “Should've gone for Paris Hilton's Chihuahua instead, fatso.” The armor twisted its metal knee further into the man's back despite his agonized wail as he wiggled on the dirty floor like a meaty slug. He wore a greasy, too tight t-shirt with yellow armpit stains.

Right after Tony had tied up and blindfolded him, he wet himself and was whimpering around his makeshift gag. Jarvis spoke just as Tony rose to his feet. “Mister Wayne is being held in the lavatory facilities.” With an electronic whirr, Tony straightened up to his full height and stalked into the direction. The plywood door gave way with a crunch, and Tony saw how Bruce's tied-up form had been dumped into a dirty, old bathtub.

Concerned and enraged, Tony hunkered his 6'6 humanoid form down over the rim and snapped the zip ties cutting into Bruce's wrists. “Bruce -can you hear me? Bruce? Please...” He only dared to flip the faceplate up after Jarvis had scanned his assistant for critical injuries and thankfully found none. “Apart from a minor dehydration and an irregular heartbeat, Mister Wayne's vital functions are in the normal range.”

Tony blew out a breath of relief and allowed himself the luxury of running a gauntleted hand through Bruce's hair. “Call the cops, Jarvis, we'll leave some of the blackmail video material as evidence.” A soft moan made him glance down. The first thing Bruce Wayne did upon laying his eyes on his armored employer was to throw up over the rim, right upon his iron-clad feet, before he passed out again.

+

“Mister Wayne has been over-anesthetized with ether. The aftereffects include feelings of severe nausea and vomiting. He will have trouble consuming anything solid, probably even fluids, for the upcoming few days.” Jarvis' voice was gentle and factual at the same time. Back at his workshop, Tony gritted his teeth as he poured himself a shot of liquor for the first time since his captivity, feeling the need for a real drink.

None of that was supposed to happen. Bruce was never supposed to get in the line of fire because of him, but now he had, and with disastrous consequences. Amber liquid sloshed in the crystal tumbler as Tony's hand gripped the glass tight before he raised it and swallowed a mouthful of expensive bourbon. Right now, his assistant was recovering from the exertions of the past 24 hours spent at Cedar Sinai for supervision. 

“I should pay him a visit.”

Tony then paused, thoughtful. “Where exactly does he live, though? Somewhere in Brentwood is my best guess.” A digital map appeared in mid-air without preamble. “Mister Wayne has a rented apartment in West Los Angeles, Sir. 1002 South Barrington Avenue.” The graphics switched to real-time satellite pictures, and much to Tony's surprise, it turned out to be a modest building complex. Stark put the glass down and palmed his chin.

“Not quite what one would associate with an executive assistant's living conditions.”

Seeing his R8 would cause a great many shady looks, Tony decided to go via an inconspicuous rental car. He ended up cursing his decision all the way from Point Dume to Brentwood for its awful transmission. As soon as he had wrestled the 36-inch stuffed teddy bear with its bandaged paw and a printed shirt reading 'Get well soon – your illness is robbing me of attention' under his arm, Tony skipped up the flight of stairs.

After ringing the bell brought no results, an anxious Tony made Jarvis help him break into the apartment. Inside the small studio it was cool and dark, with all blinds down, and most of all quiet. It smelled of peppermint oil, a faint wisp of the sandalwood fragrance Tony came to associate solely with Bruce by now, and detergent. Said smell came from a basket on the floor filled with recently laundered button-down shirts.

Tony dropped the teddy bear onto the twin-size bed that was rumpled but empty and looked around. There was very little furniture all around the studio; a small kitchenette with a toaster and an electric two-burner but no oven or microwave was installed in the corner. There was no couch and only a chair and desk instead. The latter had a laptop on it which was running. Tony stepped closer and examined the items on the table.

There were files with a stylized eagle logo that read S.H.I.E.L.D underneath and had his name on it. The laptop was paused from where it had apparently been playing a video. Tony took a glimpse and inhaled. It was the video his kidnappers had made him sit through in Afghanistan, bloodied, tattered and tied up, blinking scared eyes into the camera. Without thinking, he reached out with a shaky hand and pressed play.

A translation program instantly sprang into action, turning spoken Urdu into English subtitles.

“ _... y_ _ou did not tell us that the target you paid us to kill was the great Tony Stark. As you can see, Obadiah Stane, your deception and lies will cost you dearly. The price to kill Tony Stark has just gone up."_

A flushing sound made Tony leap out of his horrified stupor with a yelp. The door to the bathroom then opened, revealing a pale, unshaven Bruce Wayne dressed in shirt and slacks. He took in the scene in front, Stark's shell-shocked countenance, and raised an arm. “Tony...-” Wayne took a careful step towards him. With a vehement shake of the head, Tony stumbled backward, bumping a thigh against the table's leg.

“No.”

The manila folder with his name dropped to the floor, papers spilling all over the floor.

He heard Bruce call his name again as he turned and raced down the stairs, got into the rented Toyota with the dull paint job, and fled.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the other shoe finally drops

Special Agent Bruce Wayne. Codename The Dark Knight.  
Master strategist with Special Ops training, specialized in infiltration and intelligence gathering.  
Working for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division ever since leaving his hometown Gotham City eight years ago.

The words flickered on Tony's holographic screen as he sat in the finally reassembled Hotrod and watched the string of information float in mid-air in front of him. When Jarvis then announced the arrival of said Gothamite, Tony did not even turn around. Instead, he remained where he was; too numb and tired to move. Bruce's steps, albeit quiet, could be heard the second he keyed in his code for the workshop.

Wordless, he stopped next to the Hotrod's driver side and regarded the miserable man sitting inside for the longest time. “Can we talk about this?” Tony refused to raise his head to look at him. Instead, he made swiping gestures at the holographics. “I was just a job after all, huh? Not quite corporate espionage, but close.” His hands then turned into tight fists. “Fuck this shit, I trusted you.” Wayne said nothing.

He had to step aside when Stark reached for the door handle and got out of the classic car. The Hotrod rattled as he slammed it shut with a metal clang. For a while, Bruce stood and watched him seethe and pace along the workshop. When the billionaire stopped, he sized up his assistant's pale face and his as usual immaculate attire with open mistrust. “So spill. The whole fucking story. From the beginning.”

After a brief moment, Bruce inhaled and raised his chin. “SHIELD had been keeping a close eye on you ever since you took over the company in 1992. All of your frequent misconducts aside, Stark Industries is a valuable asset to the Government and the DoD. When the opportunity to get someone on the inside presented itself, I was chosen to take over the role as your PA.”

Tony steadied himself against his desk and lowered his head as he listened along. At the pause, he narrowed his eyes but did not move otherwise. “And? Measured up to your expectations, didn't I?” It came out as a harsh bark. Bruce wet his lips, keeping his eyes on something outside the workshop's windows. “I was not supposed to get this... close to you.” His voice was low and defeated, his arms hanging limply down his sides.

“Ever since then, I have been withholding certain intel from them, which prompted - questions.”

Tony continued to pace, though that time, he started to round his assistant with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a gauging expression. “One thing I don't get though is why'd you let yourself get kidnapped? I suppose you could've easily terminated that dude with both of your hands tied to the back. Blindfolded, too.” The Gothamite's eyes followed him whenever he appeared in his line of view.

“I was also not supposed to blow my cover.”

His toneless reply made Tony stop in front of him. His eyes turned to scrutinizing slits. “So what you're saying is that you're a super stealthy special Bond-kinda agent with full combat and survival training who can kill people with his pinkie, fly fighter jets, and disarm nuclear missiles on his lunch break?” A pause. When Bruce looked him in the eye, there was a certain kind of wariness in them. “Except for I don't kill.”

Mouth agape for a good five seconds, Tony threw his arms up in the air. “Way to humblebrag, dollface. Is there at least something real about you?” Bruce's lips thinned. “What I have told you about my parents is the truth.” Stark bared his teeth in a humorless smile.

“Throw the dog a bone, how generous. And yet, despite your tragic backstory, they went and picked you for this mission because... help me out here - my weapons killed thousands of people but I was harmless? That it? Or are you agent dudes in possession of super-telepathic abilities and predicted the outcome of all this?”   
  
Wayne's glum aura increased. “SHIELD didn't know about Stane's ulterior motives until now. After you had been kidnapped, they worried Stark Industries' weapons would end up in the Ten Rings' hands. But when you came back and set a new tone, they wanted an even closer eye on you, before your foray into vigilantism.” The last word was said with a peculiar undertone.

With new-found strength, Tony stormed over to switch off his holographic display, letting the pictures of a younger Bruce Wayne in SHIELD uniform disappear. “So here's what: I am officially reliving you of your duties regarding my person. Consider yourself fired. Go tell your superiors I don't need a governmental, backstabbing nanny. I'll deal with Stane on my own.”

An anguished expression entered Bruce's usually so stoic face. “I'm afraid I can't do that, Tony.” In three long strides, Tony had crossed the distance over to where he stood, pushing himself up until they were toe to toe. “Oh yes, you can. You can and you will. Because you owe me, Bruce Wayne. For all the crap you pulled behind my back.” Tony then held out his hand, palm upward. “Your key cards and phone. Now.”

The Gothamite stared at him but Tony's flinty glare and firm stance never wavered. Eventually, Wayne reached into his pocket and handed over the requested items. The second Tony had them, he swung around and went back to his workbench. He slammed them on it and braced himself against it, shoulders hunched. “Guess you can see yourself out.” Bruce watched his heaving back with a miserable tug around his mouth.  
  
“I never wanted this.”  
  
When there was no further response, Wayne turned around and walked towards the exit.  
The door shut behind him with a near-inaudible click.  
From the corner of his eye, Tony followed the slow path his feet took up the stairs one by one until he was finally out of sight.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which push comes to shove

“... and restock on isotonic drinks, Jarvis. Pomegranate-raspberry.”

“Yes, Mister Wayne.”

A shuffle from behind caused Bruce to glimpse up. Happy Hogan stood with his meaty arms crossed over his chest and glared daggers at his impassive counterpart. “Bossman said I should make sure you'd get the fuck out for good.” Wayne ignored him and kept on checking things off of a tablet connected to the fridge. Cracking his knuckles, Hogan stepped up to him. “You hard of hearing, pal?”

In a move too fast to foresee, let alone dodge, Bruce shot ahead, twisted his arm and slammed him down so that his cheek connected hard with the granite kitchen counter. Hogan let out a pain-filled grunt but was powerless in the solid grip. “I heard you just fine.” It sounded low and dangerous. Wayne shifted and used his free hand to turn the other man's head around. He then pointed at the fridge across from them.

“Make sure he eats. And the first-aid kit down in the workshop needs to be restocked every week.”

Half of his face mashed into the counter, Hogan blinked and made a squeaking noise. Once Bruce released him with a small shove, Happy pushed himself back into a standing position, ready to lash out. However, the Gothamite's broad silhouette was already walking towards the main entrance.

“Fuck you, too, Wayne. You hear me? Fuck you!”

Said man did not turn around, grabbed his motorbike helmet from the shelf, and left.

+

From the moment Bruce was gone, things began to pick up speed instead of slowing down. All alone at the mansion, Tony was unprepared for Obadiah's final betrayal, which ripped out his heart in the most literal sense. The seconds ticked away in agonizing silence until he was able to drag himself into the workshop. Never had Tony been more grateful for his former assistant's nostalgia as he smashed the glass case of his old ARC.

While he lay on the cold hard concrete ground and gathered his bearings, Stark's thoughts strayed towards getting backup. Rhodey was currently out of country, and he had given Happy the weekend off. It ultimately left him with the only reasonable choice. The line got picked up at first ring.

“Ton-”

“Shut up and listen. Stane has gone insane.”

“What?”

“He's absolutely nuts. He's got my ARC and a suit of his own. I'm trying to stop him.”

“Where are you? What you do mean he's got your--?”

“Go tell your precious agent buddies this might get messy.”

The line went dead, leaving Bruce Wayne to stare at it for two more seconds before springing into action. He arrived just in time for the showdown at Stark Industries' premises. Pulling his motorbike to a drifting stop, he made his way into the factory building that was illuminated by flying sparks and explosions from the roof. His in-ear gave a small buzz. “Agent Wayne, do you copy.” He tapped it while pulling out a taser.

“In position. I'm going in.”

The voice of the dispatcher was gruff. “Negative. This is a standard recon procedure. Backup is on the way. ETA fifteen minutes.” The connection got cut and left Bruce to scan his surroundings for any jamming transmitters, but then his comm buzzed again, albeit at a different frequency.

“Yes?”

“Wayne, you there?”

Stark's voice was breathless. Bruce refastened the straps to the vest of his black combat suit and pressed twice onto the in-ear until a slim, digital mono HUD appeared in front of his right eye. Instant figures and calculations filled the small screen. “I'm at the factory right now. I'm coming up. Stay put.” Panting over the line. “No, stay down there, I'm almost outta power. I need you to overheat the reactor and blast the roof.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, Stane is. Do as I say.”

“What about you?”

“I'll manage. Do it!”

The connection got cut without preamble, even if Bruce cursed out and tried to revive it in vain. Seeing it would not reload, he made up his mind. He broke into a sprint and entered the building with a brief and easy override of the electric lock mechanism. Bruce craned his neck, but from his current position on the first floor, the fight upstairs was nothing more than a dull cacophony, almost like a far-away thunderstorm.

Wayne reached for the control panel and pressed all line relay buttons and switches there were, creating a static hum in the air that made the hairs in the back of his neck frizz and stand up. Every now and then he glimpsed up at the roof. All of a sudden, rapid gunfire erupted, and Bruce had to duck and roll for cover when a shower of glass splinters rained down on him. He pressed his comm again. “All set. Get off the roof!”

No answer.

Glass shards crunched under his combat boots as Bruce made his way back up to the main console. Up above, he saw Stark's armored figure hanging from the ceiling's metal construction. Wayne, too, had to hold on when massive detonations started to rock the building. Then there was Tony's voice in his ear once again, yelling at him over the ruckus of bursting metal. “BRUCE! NOW! PUNCH IT!”

With a press to the big red emergency button, the Gothamite ducked for cover as electricity began to sizzle through the room. He made it out of the control room just before the whole ARC reactor burst to pieces in a bright white beam of energy shooting into the sky like a volcano until it dissolved in static thunder. The shockwave propelled him forward, into the direction of the first arriving van of SHIELD reinforcements. 

Down on the ground, Bruce had barely managed to make it into vertical when another massive, fiery explosion shook the grounds. It sent him and his colleagues jumping for cover behind the car to escape the high-temperature blast that blew out the van's windows. Shaking off the safety glass flakes from all over his head and shoulders, Bruce risked a glimpse around the van as soon as there was only silence.

His in-ear was gone, likely smashed to pieces, and he scrambled to his feet. Upon seeing the smoldering remains of the factory, he started to bark out orders. “Secure the perimeter and get a medivac ready! I need people up there on the roof! Stat!” Another agent got to his feet and cast him a look before speaking into his headset. When Bruce made a move to head for the burnt-out site himself, there was a hand on his wrist.

“Stay put, Sir. Director's orders.”

Baring his teeth amid a soot-stained face, Wayne yanked his arm free and went for the building again. A second pair of hands appeared around his other arm just then, and there was the telltale, cold muzzle of a taser on the side of his neck. “Agent Wayne. Stand. Down.” Raging in the other agents' grip, Bruce stared helpless eyes up at the bombed-out rooftop where bright flames continued to lick up into the night sky.

“ _TONY...!”_

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which things fall into place

The first thing Tony saw when he regained a good portion of his consciousness was a white ceiling.

Heaven smelled too much like disinfectant and strong linoleum wax polish. Instead of little fat cherubs on clouds, rejoicing on golden little harps, there was a beeping pattern of several apparatuses filling his aching head. He tried to shift from his back to curl up on the side, but there was a sharp tug on his wrist and an instant chime of electronic warnings. “Stay put, Mister Stark.”

An unfamiliar man in a neatly pressed black suit stepped into his line of view. Tony made an ill-sounding noise in the back of his throat and glimpsed down. He was out of his armor, and the reactor in his chest was glowing through the blanket. The man reached for his earpiece. “He's awake.” Befuddled, Tony lifted his eyes towards him. “Wh'm' I?” The man was back to standing alert close to the door, hands in front of his lap.

“A medical facility of SHIELD. After Agent Wayne had taken care of your drained device, you were brought in for a 12-hour supervision.”

The words were crisp, yet made no sense inside Tony's mushy head. “Hnh?” The door then opened a crack, and Bruce's face appeared. His first glance went to Tony. “How is he?” The shorter, balding man gave a bored-looking smirk. “Responsive but inarticulate.” Bruce thus slipped into the room, dressed in the same attire as his colleague. He briefly took his eyes off of the tired form in the bed.

“A minute, Phil.”

It seemed like a question but sounded like an order. The other man's mouth twitched but he tilted his head. “Keep it short. Sitrep in twenty.” He abandoned his post by the door and slipped out of the room. As soon as they were alone, Bruce walked to the bedside and poured something from a tall decanter. “Water?” Numb, Tony nodded. He took a few sips from a straw and followed Bruce's motions with his eyes as he pulled up a chair.

“Bugged?”  
His voice was nothing but a croak but Bruce seemed to understand and gave a single nod.  
“How do you feel?”  
  
Tony blinked up at him, gaze still unfocused.  
“Crappy.”  
Wayne's thin lips vanished as he briefly pressed them together.  
  
“That should improve soon. The reactor is almost back to full capacity.”

“How?”

“You mentioned Stane had taken it. I retrieved it after it withstood the explosion and switched devices.”  
  
Tony closed watering eyes and breathed into his belly for a few heartbeats. “Hn.” When he reopened them, Bruce was watching him with a look full of well-hidden concern. “Gettin better at Operation. Good for you.” Wayne half smirked, half nodded, and got to his feet, putting the chair back into its original place. “Get some rest.” Tony drifted off soon after, unsure if he had imagined the tender brush of a palm against his cheek or not.

The next time he woke, he was alone in the room.

Bruce Wayne never showed up again, not even when Tony was escorted home in a huge, air-conditioned black van with tinted windows.

+

“And now Mister Stark has prepared a statement. He will not be taking any questions.”

After Rhodey's introduction, Tony took the few steps up to the podium, feeling his muscles protest from the exertions of the past days. In his hand was the alibi the balding agent called Coulson had given to him. A bodyguard in the suit was responsible for the mess while Tony was supposedly yachting away in Avalon. All the ridiculousness of the cover story aside, Tony had tried to grill Coulson for any word on Bruce Wayne.

Infuriatingly enough, the other man had remained as tight-lipped and detached as expected, and Tony suspected he and Bruce most likely got along more than fine. Sadly enough, not even Jarvis had been able to find out anything regarding the whereabouts of the former personal assistant, and so, during Tony's solitary recuperation, his mood had worsened and all of his anger at being played had resurfaced.

Which was part of the reason he decided the press conference was just the right place to throw all caution to the wind.

“Truth is... I _am_ Iron Man.”

In the back of the crowded room stood a man with jet-black hair. He was wearing mirrored aviator shades and a dark suit. Tony squinted into his direction right before the whole room exploded in a mass of yelling reporters and flashing cameras. As soon as Stark blinked, the man was gone.

While half a dozen Stark Industries' security guards tried to keep things at bay, Tony escaped the overall ruckus by ducking out to where Happy was waiting for him in the limousine. As he stood there and heaved a deep breath, he could not help but smirk with grim satisfaction. Being a genius encompassed the ability to simultaneously piss off both Rhodey and the whole mysterious SHIELD organization in the matter of seconds.

Tony figured it was payback for what Bruce had done to him, in a way. And Rhodey would forgive him soon enough, maybe at the prospect of getting his own suit. Fingers shaking, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and popped another painkiller against the slowly flaring up, dull pain from his mangled body. He then pushed the back entrance open to see his chauffeur next to the open limousine door, engine running.

Grateful, Tony got in and slid into the backseat. Cool, pleasant air with a tinge of leather engulfed him, and he snuggled deeper into the seat. He must have dozed off because the next thing Tony knew was the car came to a stop and the partition wall lowered with a hum.

“You alright there on your own, bossman?”

From the driver's seat, Hogan cast him a skeptical look over his shoulder and nodded towards the mansion. Stark knew once more why he was so fond of Happy. Hogan never gave him lip and dutifully got him where he wanted without much ado. He wiped over his face, put up a winsome smirk, and sat up straight. “Sure, Hap, thanks. I'll see you around. Not tomorrow, though. Really gotta catch up on those Z's.”

The burly man gave a nod and put the limousine into reverse. As soon as the taillights disappeared down the long driveway, Tony trotted inside his darkened mansion. He dropped his tie and jacket on the floor without so much of a second look and exhaled. The sudden quiet felt odd after the riot of the previous hours and days. In the mood for a drink to forget about the past 72 hours, Tony then clapped his hands.

Nothing happened, no lights came on as expected, and the room stayed semi-dark. The only light coming in was from Malibu's illuminated shoreline outside his panorama window front and a couple of permanent emergency downlights on the upper floors. Tony squinted in suspicion and raised his head. “Jarvis?” When there was no response, he felt his body instantly go into fight or flight mode, adrenaline pumping.

“The mansion's systems are offline for the next fifteen minutes. I wanted to be able to speak to you in private at least once.”

At the dark but familiar voice coming from close to the fireplace, Tony put his arms akimbo. “While I'm all for the Houdini Act, I'm not talking to a ghost. Can we have a little light or is there more to your oh-so-mysterious sham?” Quiet shuffles, then Bruce stepped out of the shadows, and in no time, they were face to face. Stunned, Tony took in his rugged black clothes, the shorter and darker hair, and his blue eyes.

“Uh-huh. So that's the real you, eh?”

Bruce stayed quiet and switched the motorbike helmet into his other hand. Tony grimaced. “Well. Nice to meet you at least once.” He barked out a curt, mean laugh. “Wonder why you bothered so much with the disguise, though. Was this too alpha-male for my case?” Bruce ground his jaw and frowned at the marble-tiled floor. “It wasn't a disguise. This isn't me.” Stark snorted once, mirthless, and crossed his arms.

“Ah, so it's for your next job then. A job just like I have been one. Oh, well, I already pity the poor guy – or is it a gal this time? – who's gonna succumb to your good looks and persuasive charms.” When Wayne lifted his head, anger lay in his blue gaze. “Stop it.” It made Tony square his shoulders and straighten up. “Enough of the small talk, right. You came to atone for your sins I take it. No? Or just to collect your last paycheck?"

Bruce's free hand formed a fist. Seeing him so receptive spurred the billionaire on even more. “Yeah, probably that. I mean, I can only pay for the time until I got wind of your concurrent employment. Since you withheld that information, legal matters would not--” With a dark snarl, Bruce lurched forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Stop. It.” The words barely registered in Tony's mind as blood rushed in his ears.

“Why? Why don't you just get the fuck out of my life, Wayne?”

Stark's voice came out croaked as he tried to twist out of the solid grip and push away. Before he got to expel more profanities, a pair of lips sealed his, absorbing all his anger and taking all of his breath away. When Bruce's mouth finally released him, it rested only millimeters from his; breath hot on Tony's face. “You know why. You damn well know why.” They panted into each other for a few heartbeats, foreheads touching.

Tony's hand, after pushing against Bruce's chest for the longest time, then curled into the fabric of his jacket.  
“Didn't get the memo. Run that by me again.”  
The helmet landed on the couch as Bruce lifted Tony from underneath his buttocks and carried him upstairs.

 


	19. Epilog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is closure

The morning after giving into their pent-up feelings, Tony was the first one awake.

As expected, his body was still a sore mess, but much to his surprise, Bruce was still there, too, next to him in his California king-size bed, half of his face pressed into a pillow. An arm was curled around Tony's midriff just below the ARC. Bathed in the ever-glowing blue hues of the reactor, Tony then saw the multitude of scars covering most of what was visible of Wayne's body for the first time.

The majority of them were white, crisscrossed lines, some of them dark-red, gnarly reminders of a jagged knife getting too close or a bullet dodged too late. A blue eye cracked open and followed his every move when Tony's gaze trailed up again. He extended a finger and brushed it along the cheekbone underneath. “Take them out.” A grunt. “Not without my glasses.” Tony hummed and folded his arm to put it under his head.

“SHIELD never made you get surgery to fix it?”

Bruce turned on his back and yawned into the crook of an elbow. “A mild form of hyperopic astigmatism, less than 0.6 diopter. The risk of something going wrong during surgery outweighs the usage of contact lenses or glasses.” Stark propped himself up on one elbow. “Benefits of not being called in for sharpshooter duty, I guess.” An elusive but gentle smile answered him. "Maybe."

Tony ran his free hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. “So this now means you're going to come back and stay for good? You've got a lot of groveling to do, let me tell you.” Bruce watched him, face solemn. “I have crossed a certain employer-employee line from which there is no turning back.” Stark shrugged with a carefree smile and drew a delicate circle around one of Bruce's pecs.

“Pah. I believe in a healthy work-life balance. Now we can have the best of both worlds.”

Wayne's eyes traveled over to the tinted window front. “I was given a new assignment as of next week.” Tony harrumphed out loud. “I've just announced to the world I am Iron Man, if I may remind you?! It doesn't get any better on the assignment front than me.” Bruce sighed and looked at him. “Do you ever stop and think for a second about the ramifications of any of your actions?” The hand on his chest traveled down.

“Hardly.”

By now, Tony was focused on pulling away the blanket that covered Bruce until two hipbones and a dark happy trail became visible. Stark's grin turned predatory. “Tell SHIELD if I get to keep my PA, I'll be a little nicer and play ball in the future.” Their eyes met, deadpan blue on cheeky brown.

“Really.”

  
END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, heartfelt Thank You <3 to all of you marvelous readers/commenters/kudo-givers and supporters of this fic, which was born out of a crack-ish idea (as usual) And if you liked it, stay tuned for part II


End file.
